Wander
by PaintedViolin
Summary: Sequel to Exist. Two-time victor, survivor, broken and rebuilt, Haymitch has fed the spark lit by Katniss. It is his face the rebels rally to, his words that left such an impact. But the Hunger Games go on and time runs short for the rebels to overtake the Capitol before the next batch of tributes are sent into the arena. M for gore, strong lang, and adult content. Please review!
1. Chapter 1: Scars Don't Heal

**Sequel to "Exist". District 13 is too good of a location to pass up, so I will be stationing our characters there temporarily, but this will take a very different path from Mockingjay. I'll update upon request. Thanks for reading and as always, if you have anything you'd like to say, please drop me a review or a PM. I'm always on the lookout and I love reading feedback!**

Not for the first time, two biased soldiers had to get between Haymitch and a too-big-for-his-britches snotrag whose sole entertainment seemed to be in mocking Haymitch. It had become custom for Haymitch to fight with the soldiers of District 13, but he was never the first one to draw blood. For people like Topper whose very faces demanded to be punched, it was amusing to set Haymitch off since his temper bubbled so near the surface nowadays. Fighting was strictly prohibited in Thirteen and punishable by isolation as well as shortened rations, but since all the feuds were with Haymitch and he never sought retaliation, little shits like Topper knew they could come at him whenever they wanted without fear of retaliation from Commander Septum.

Praxis Septum, leader of District 13 was a man with little patience, a short temper, and no humor, but he let Haymitch be on account of Haymitch being as much of a beacon for the rebellion as Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire, the woman who fooled the Capitol. She was the main attraction and could request special favors as long as they didn't interfere with daily activity such as letting Haymitch out on a long leash. Praxis accepted Katniss; he tolerated Haymitch.

But it wasn't Haymitch's fault that half of the middle levels could hear him shouting and swearing in the dead of night as he awoke to visions of giant insects crawling all over him or throwing back his covers only to discover that half of his body was missing. His last Hunger Games had broken him and two months after, he was still in recovery mode, though improving far beyond his own expectations. After discovering Katniss alive, his body had begun to live again, to accept nutrition and allow for healing to occur.

Praxis, working through spies in the Capitol, managed to send separate parachute gifts to Katniss and Beetee, the extraordinarily intelligent victor from District 3. Neither of them had been briefed before entering the arena, but their parachutes came with instructions to inject themselves with a syringe full of a deceiving liquid when the cameras were not on them and they were out of eyesight of all other victors. The liquid was an advanced drug made to completely stop the heart and all other vital organs so that the cannon would sound off, but at the same time it would keep the victors alive for a short period, just long enough for the hovercraft with the serial number 1512 to swoop down and claim them. One or two Gamemakers in the control room staged their deaths by having a portion of the jungle arena seize Beetee and then supposedly throw him into the force field while Katniss waited until nearly midnight for the complete darkness while the spies disrupted the cameras in her sector so that no one could see her inject herself. The hovercraft would only be able to get clearance twice and so the number was stamped onto the side so that Katniss and Beetee knew which one to trust.

Meanwhile, Haymitch knew none of this and went through the seven layers of hell in every physical, emotional, and mental sense of the word before he was told of Katniss's survival on the train back to District 12. Peeta Mellark and Effie Trinket assumed he had been shot as punishment for his outspoken interviews, but this was only to spare them in case they were captured and questioned by the Capitol.

So Haymitch came to Thirteen, an elaborate underground operation where he was the first of many rebels to begin trickling in from the districts. The rest of Panem was not yet at a full scale riot, but before President Snow brought down the axe, those who could were fleeing into the wilderness while others made direct contact with Thirteen and requested evacuation. Praxis had put him on a rigid diet that consisted solely of meats and vegetables along with some serum that started feeding Haymitch's damaged limbs where food and exercise could not. With alcohol prohibited and the physical strain on Haymitch due to his strict training schedule, his body was finally returning to its state when he had won his first Games. This was the healthiest and fittest he had been in over twenty-five years.

The one thing he had kept about his post-arena appearance, though, was his closely shaved head, not because he missed his long blonde strands, but because it was just so much easier to manage without and if there was one thing the arena had made him appreciate, it was cleanliness. After going days without scrubbing layers of caked-on mud and congealed blood from his body, he couldn't stand to go longer than a day without bathing, which was lucky because Thirteen allowed him to take a two minute shower every night on the spot at ten minutes to nine. Still, he felt partially naked without his hair and the place where he had accidentally sliced into his skin as he cut the hair off had not healed (inwardly he believed Snow had the doctors inject something into him that prevented the cuts from bleeding, but also kethem from completely scabbing over) so he was granted upon request a black hat that shaped to his head and hid all his scars from view.

Which was why Haymitch made a mad grab for his shield when Topper yanked the hat from the top of his head, revealing his battle souvenirs and waving the hat tauntingly out of Haymitch's reach as another two of Topper's cronies blocked Haymitch off. Topper climbed on top of the cantina tables and started leaping from one to another, tossing the hat from hand to hand as he went.

"What are you, four?" shouted Haymitch as Topper's thugs kept him back. "Grow up and get your ass down here."

"Those are some interesting cuts you have on your head, Abernathy," said Topper. He had small, beady eyes like a rat and mousy hair, which made Haymitch want to report him as a vermin infestation on a daily basis.

"I'll give you some matching ones if you don't quit that shit and get down here so I can knock your teeth out."

"You do and Septum will knock yours out to make me a new set."

"I'm not in the mood right now and I'm needed below, so give it back," said Haymitch wearily.

"Oh, needed below are you? Especially important task for the disturbed two-time victor of District 12? That's put us in our place, hasn't it, lads?" said Topper, trying Haymitch's hat on for size. "You must think you're Septum's favorite little soldier, don't you Abernathy? Well, a hat doesn't merit you for shit down here and you'd best stop shooting me looks every time you pass by because you're no more important than the rest of us."

Actually, Haymitch was over a hundred times more important that the majority of Thirteen's inhabitants, but he wasn't about to tell Topper that. Finally, one of Topper's cronies encouraged his leader to give up Haymitch's hat and Topper jumped down from the table, wringing the hat in his hands for good measure two feet from Haymitch.

"You haven't been here nearly long enough to know how things are run, Abernathy. For example, we don't waste food here and I see you leaving bits on your tray for some of the children. They eat only what they need and you're not helping them; you're encouraging disobedience by doing that. Also, don't pretend to know more about the Capitol than those of us who were raised knowing what sort of foul deeds they get up to. And thirdly, if you're Septum's pet, request a sedative because I'm sick of hearing you screaming every night. Man up and act like a soldier."

Haymitch punched Topper in the mouth, not out of annoyance, but because the little bastard had no idea why or how the nightmares were brought on. Thirteen only caught small highlights from the Quarter Quell because Praxis didn't want word getting out that there was an infiltration to get Haymitch, Katniss, and Beetee out of the arena. Topper didn't see what sort of horrors he had to deal with. Despite the rigidness of Thirteen, Topper had grown up safer than Haymitch ever could have hoped for and for him to insult Haymitch's masculinity when Topper had never been in any form of combat, it was nothing short of unacceptable.

True to his word, Haymitch had popped out two of Topper's back teeth and as the thugs were about to launch themselves at Haymitch, there came a whistle and a command of, "Stand to!"

Haymitch didn't follow the order issued by Alaida Septum, Praxis's eighteen year old daughter and lieutenant, but did hasten to scoop up his hat where Topper had dropped it and jammed it back on his head as Praxis entered the nearly empty cantina. His cold lavender eyes swept over Topper who was nursing his jaw to the two thugs to Haymitch who was sure that his face had to be flushed with anger.

"More frugal fighting, Mr. Abernathy?"

"I wouldn't say frugal. He provoked me and I let him have it. I'm not taking lip from a coward who's still wet behind the ears and has no idea what goes on above ground."

"Nevertheless, I've had quite enough reports of scuffles happening around here, especially concerning you two. I'm cutting your rations in half for a week and you'll report to your compartments immediately after meals for the duration of the night until further notice. No nightly activities. Topper, Goggin, Weymar, dismissed."

Shooting Haymitch a death glare, Topper marched out of the cantina, winking at Alaida behind Praxis's back, which for some reason infuriated Haymitch even further. Once they had gone, Praxis motioned for Haymitch to sit down, which Haymitch did, though reluctantly because he knew Praxis would remain standing and he hated being talked down to.

"Mr. Abernathy, I am aware that my soldiers have not been in combat and that very few of them have any emotional ties to victims of the Hunger Games. You and them could not be more different, but that does not give you cause to think of yourself as their betters and the sooner you stop acting like it, the sooner they will let you be."

"Excuse me, but I don't strut around looking down my nose at people," Haymitch snapped. "I go to and from my designated areas and I don't talk to anyone unless I'm given an order."

"Precisely, and it is this attitude that has led many to believe that you think them unworthy of your attention," said Praxis crisply.

"Then you all are full of shit because where I come from, it's perfectly normal and acceptable to be anti-social. We don't force contact with anyone in District 12 or any of the other districts, now that I think of it. There's no law that says that we have to buddy up with people we don't know or like. If I come across as standoffish it's because I was raised that way, just like you all were raised to pry into everyone's personal lives so that there's no privacy. It's not my fault that people don't get along with me; it's not like I asked to be here and I didn't have much of a choice to say no either. If it bothers you, send me away or give me something else to do because even though you've been building me back up into the standards of a District 13 soldier, I've done nothing to be of any use around here."

"I believe I mentioned once before how you talk too much, Mr. Abernathy."

"Yeah, but what you meant was that I'm the only one who voices my opinion, another thing no one here knows how to do. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go below to train and get all set to go nowhere."

As he went, he could have sworn that he saw Alaida grin at him.


	2. Chapter 2: The Refugees

"You what?" said Beetee as Haymitch explained his lateness in the training center, picking up a one-handed axe and chucking it at a target without looking or caring where it went.

"He deserved it anyway," said Haymitch dismissively.

"That's not the point, Haymitch. Katniss can only cover for you so many times before Praxis has you locked up for disruption among the lightest charges. If you continue to assault the people of Thirteen and talk back to authoritative figures, you'll get yourself and the rest of us in more trouble."

"He can throw me in a cell if he wants, but at the end of the day, he knows he needs me."

"However true that may be, don't antagonize him or take advantage of his hospitality." When Haymitch didn't follow up with a comment, Beetee rubbed his temples as if praying for patience and then with a kinder tone directed Haymitch towards a table where he had been experimenting. "I know you don't have a preferred weapon, but I've been working on some prototypes for the weapons I've seen you use. There's spears, axes, swords, and knives, though I think I know which one you'll choose."

Haymitch bypassed the spears and axes because they were the weapons used by Brutus to kill a number of Haymitch's friends in the last Games. He never had the stomach for such weapons anyway. His weapons had always been standard items that could be found in the Seam and since knives weren't outlawed, that was what he stuck with. He kept a knife with him throughout the Second Quarter Quell and it served him well; he kept a knife for the Third Quarter Quell and everyone else stole it from him at random points to do what he should have done. Still, the small handle was familiar in his hands and it was the retractable blade he picked up first. Beside it was a matching sword and upon closer inspection, Haymitch saw the letter "H" inscribed in each weapon.

"No, it doesn't stand for 'Haymitch'," said Beetee, apparently reading his thoughts. "It could, but I figured that with the mockingjay being Katniss's symbol, you needed a little something of your own as a reminder that you too are one of the leaders the people are looking to."

"So what _does_ the h stand for?" asked Haymitch, tracing the inlaid lettering with his small finger.

"I think you know. It made such an impact in your interviews," said Beetee shrewdly.

Hate. It wasn't a rallying point and certainly didn't speak of courage or determination, but Haymitch was the first victor to ever publically voice his absolute loathing of the Capitol and their barbaric ways. He made it clear to the audience that he hated them all and would gladly kill them if he had the chance because their enjoyment fueled the Games, which was where he had lost everything but the last strip of humanity that bound him to the earth. That piece was beginning to heal and grow back to its normal size, but he would never stop hating all that the Capitol stood for.

"Both the sword and the knife are retractable, as you can see," said Beetee, jolting Haymitch out of his dark thoughts. "They're designed so that the handles, being magnetized, fit neatly into the sheaths and the blades only pop out when you draw them. And I do mean _you_. I've installed a device inside each handle that responds to your DNA so that whenever you pull on the handle, the blade pops out. This way no one can snatch it from you and use it against you. I've done a similar technique on Katniss's bow."

"I appreciate your confidence in me being able to keep a hold on my own weapons," said Haymitch a bit testily.

"I think you would be well served in learning how to wield a gun, though, because if you use your knife and sword as projectiles, you'll quickly run out of ammo and then have nothing to defend yourself with. Yes, guns are crude, but they're all we have to match the Peacekeepers. You can practice at the shooting range when classes start up later. Praxis wants to separate the newcomers into groups, so you'll have to wait to be assigned."

"Newcomers?" Haymitch repeated. "Everyone here over the age of fourteen already knows how to pop a bullet off in a man's head, so unless this new group is a pack of thirteen year olds—"

"It's not; we're expecting the first of what I anticipate to be many swarms of refugees this afternoon. Praxis sent word to his people in each district and whoever was ready to evacuate did so, though not without casualties. You see, the Capitol is relatively the same since the last Games, but in the few months since it went public that you'd been shot on the way back from the Capitol, districts have been revolting. Snow can't distribute Peacekeepers quickly enough, so while there was a power outage, or while the districts are awaiting the arrival of more Peacekeepers, others have fled. But like I said, some were taken out while on the run."

"And why would Praxis send for all these people? They're just going to take up more space and supplies."

"Praxis gave orders to his spies that only the fittest and strongest of the willing refugees could be admitted, with exceptions here and there for children or elderly. While Thirteen is strong, we still don't have nearly enough soldiers to match the Capitol's force, so Praxis is recruiting from outside. Unfortunately, not everyone could be evacuated because one, Thirteen is not big enough to house twelve more districts full of people and two, he plans to let the Games go on."

"What? He can't do that. He has Katniss now; he has enough rebels to start fighting back and he thinks the Games should continue? What kind of bullshit is that?"

"I don't know his motives, but if you want to find out, I suggest you take it up with him in Command. He'll be stationed there when the refugees come in so that he can monitor them."

"I'll do that." Haymitch left his sword but snatched up his knife and hid it in his boot because at the moment, he was feeling extremely distrusting of Commander Septum. This entire plan of evacuating only the fittest from each district and leaving the defenseless to suffer the consequences and die was exactly what Snow was doing and Haymitch would have none of it if he was going to be working with Praxis.

Outside of Command there stood two armed guards who Haymitch was prepared to fight through in order to get inside, but to his surprise they stood aside and he stormed in to where Praxis stood with Alaida watching the monitor. The screen showed Thirteen's enforced steel doors opening to admit refugees. Soldiers from Thirteen were instructing them to move and distribute their belongings on assembly belts according to their district and then they were being led one by one into a chamber to be searched.

"Ah, I was just about to send for you," said Praxis, glancing over his shoulder momentarily before returning his attention to the screen. "As you can see, our new arrivals are being most cooperative."

"That's because most of them will do anything for a decent meal and the illusion of safety," said Haymitch, coming to stand beside Praxis. "And if these are the ones who could escape and still look starved, what do those left behind look like? You've taken away the last defense for those left in the districts by commanding the victors to come here along with the fittest. Who do the people left behind have to turn to now?"

"There is reasoning behind these motives, I assure you, Haymitch, but they are better left for later. For now, you must trust my judgment."

"But—"

"Tell me, do you recognize any of our new attendants?"

None too pleased with being cut off mid-argument, Haymitch watched the screen as each district filed in accordingly.

District One, there were some twenty-odd people, no surprise seeing as how One, Two, and Four were the Capitol's pet Districts and would most likely not have that many rebels in them. Haymitch recognized a few faces by face alone, but knew one man by name, a previous victor who was not up for volunteering for the Third Quarter Quell. His name, like most people from his District, reflected his export. Glaze had a different look than most people from One, though. True, he bore the same pompous expression and long nose all the better for looking down on people, but where their hair was bright in color, sometimes even sporting the fashions of the Capitol, Glaze had wavy dark brown hair. He had won his Games by setting fire to the vast plains in the arena where all the tributes were taking refuge from one another. The inferno wiped out seven of the eight remaining competitors, earning him the corny nickname of Blazing Glaze. Unlike his fellow refugees, however, he did not don ridiculously elaborate furs to keep out the cold of the impending autumn, but was dressed in clothing strangely similar to the outfit that had been the standard uniform during his Games: a navy blue bandana tied around his forehead, a plain white shirt with no sleeves underneath another that could button up and have the sleeves rolled down, a pair of light tan pants with numerous large pockets, and mid-calf high boots. In fact, if Haymitch hadn't seen Glaze a few times at past Games and spent hours rewatching Game reruns with Katniss and Peeta before the Quarter Quell reaping, he would have taken the man for a District 11 refugee instead of one who came from the lap of luxury.

District Two offered even less than One with a mere nine rebels including a family of three: two brothers and one sister. The eldest, Kao, had won the 46th Games in a rather admirable fashion after losing his right hand to infection, cutting it off himself, and creating a replacement limb with a knife on the end by melting his many steel parachute pods together to form a cover for his severed appendage. Then, in the 61st Games, his younger sister Silica won by an excellent demonstration of disembowelment of a tribute who tried to rape her and she practiced techniques which involved cutting major arteries with a type of jagged blade that went into flesh easily but caused severe pain coming back out. Whoever their parents were (most likely dead by now, they had spaced their children far out perhaps in the hopes that by then the Games would be over), they had not anticipated all three of their children being chosen for the Games. However, while Kao and Silica had volunteered in place of the chosen tributes, the youngest, Jax, had had Cato volunteer for him two years ago. At sixteen, he missed his opportunity once, missed it again during the Quarter Quell, and now missed his final opportunity as he stood here in District Thirteen.

Jax was taller than his sister who was thirteen years his senior. He reminded Haymitch of Marvel in his lanky build, his mischievous smirk, and his curly brown hair. Kao, twenty-eight years Jax's senior, stood an inch taller than his baby brother with the same triangular jaw, but the similarities stopped there, for Kao was blonde-going-grey and had a much stockier frame throughout the chest and shoulders. Silica had raven hair, dark grey eyes, and an acrobatic build.

Both Three and Four had a good handful of people, but Haymitch could not pull any faces from memory. No victors or well-to-do Capitol favorites were in attendance, not even Annie Cresta, which surprised Haymitch because after Finnick's death he felt sure that she would have wanted to do something to avenge him. Beetee might be able to name a few, but there was simply no one Haymitch could identify, a bad omen considering how crucial it was to have Three's support.

From District Five there was (and Haymitch's stomach twisted painfully) Cobalt's fraternal twin brother, Cyan Jerrick who was blonde where his brother had been ginger, stern-faced where Cobalt grinned too often, and war-weary which Cobalt had not been lucky enough to survive to experience. Cyan did not volunteer for his twin and Haymitch supposed the reason why was a secret he would take to the grave. Cobalt loved his brother more than anyone, as was seen on the screens when Peacekeepers had to physically pry the two apart so that Cobalt could board the train the first time. But Cyan never spoke out in his brother's place, so the love could not have been mutual. Or could it? Perhaps Cobalt was the stronger of the two and figured he stood better chances. Or maybe Cobalt was the weaker one and asked his brother not to volunteer so that there would still be someone to help the family survive?

Over two hundred had come from District Six, led by one of their two remaining victors, Slone, who bore a stark contrast in resemblance to the other three past victors, all of them morphlings. Haymitch didn't know what it was about Six that led so many people (not just the victors) to the addiction, but Slone had overcome the norm of his people and was a force to be reckoned with when he used a shield to bludgeon the Careers to death. As a gift for his brutality, Snow had allowed him to keep the weapon from the 49th Games and it was this weapon of defense that he had strung across his back now.

Stave of District Seven towered above his people, all of them ranging around five feet, nine inches. He had very wide nostrils that flared in telltale warning when he would have one of his fits. The 39th Games saw him suffer through heat exhaustion on top of his mental instability. Severely dehydrated, he crawled into a space between two boulders and bit down on a stick for hours at a time to mask his screams. The Capitol explained that he had been traumatized as an infant, which left him shaky and sweaty for thirteen out of the fourteen days of the Games. His win came about by grabbing onto the last tribute's neck as he went into a fit and holding on until the girl died of asphyxiation. Afterwards, while waiting to be interviewed for the last time before going home, he had accidentally set a fire in his room and burned off his eyebrows as well as severely damaged his face. Alteration from the Capitol mended his face to an extent, but now one of his eyes had a red ring on the inside of the brown and his eyebrows were reworked into imposing arches that always gave him a disapproving look.

Eight offered no familiar faces, though most of them were wrapped in bits and pieces of their own export to fight the cold so that the mass of them resembled a large quilted blanket rippling in the wind. Haymitch saw one girl so tightly wrapped in calico that she looked like an enormous bag that someone had lugged along.

Nine's only surviving victor, Axle, was the winner of the 52nd Hunger Games, now that Sickle and Tilly were dead. His jaw was pulled tight to the point where it looked like an alteration, but in reality it was from years of wearing the same, disapproving expression with little to no change. Haymitch didn't know if he was capable of smiling, or crying, or _anything_. For his interview with Caesar Flickerman, Axle had muttered in his guttural tone that suggested damage to his vocal chords at a young age that he didn't care one way or the other if people sponsored him. He did, however, make sure to highlight the previous year's winner, Tilly, and inform the Capitol that District 9 grew up on hacking away at wheat stalks, so the other tributes who underestimated them were in for a rude awakening. He was not a particularly popular victor in Twelve because of how he had beheaded the female tribute, a girl named Janine who had the misfortune to try and stab him in the back as he slept. The Capitol admired Axle for his violence, just as they had Brutus, so it made little sense to Haymitch why he should be here now.

Unfortunately, District 10 had no victors in condition to flee. The eldest and last surviving victor was an old man named Ezben who had won the year after Mags at the age of eighteen and now suffered from shaking pains that made it impossible for him to travel, or so Praxis had said, but Ezben agreed to rally rebels within Ten for the fight ahead. In his place, he sent his son, Renner, unremarkable to the eye with a protruding lower jaw, black stubble across his face, and a vacant expression. He did, however, possess the strong arms and calloused hands of a man who had spent his entire life tending to livestock: pulling ropes, herding cattle, lifting crates and barrels of hay, shoeing horses, and rangling runaways.

Eleven had the most refugees, though Haymitch recognized none. Chaff and Seeder had been the last two victors alive out of four and both were buried in the smoldering wheat fields of their district.

Most shocking of all was the small band of Capitol escapees, including Bastian Mercer who oversaw weaponry construction for the Games. A practiced swordsman himself, Bastian had the final call in design to match tribute's needs. For the hulking tribute who showed promise with an axe, he designed a weapon to match their strength and maneuverability. If a tribute needed a lighter weapon due to some disability, he made it available in the Cornucopia—if only the tribute could get to it.

"Victors, please report to Level 2550 for assessment," said a voice over the loudspeakers and Haymitch finally turned to Praxis, tearing his eyes away from the long line of refugees still piling through the door.

"Now, what exactly did you want me here for?"

"You know these victors better than anyone. I want you to make a list of the ones you think can absolutely be trusted to help train their people, and then I want a list of those who you think might be working undercover for the Capitol, mainly One and Two. If you have friends in other districts, bring them to my attention."

"Why are you singling out victors as potential spies? Anyone could be working for the Capitol," said Haymitch, seeing a great flaw in Praxis's plan.

"Which is why each refugee is being stripped, probed, and having their luggage and clothing thoroughly searched before they are issued a compartment," said Praxis. "It's the price to pay for safety and I'm sure they would more willingly submit to it than go on living as they have. But back on topic: you will follow me to meet with the victors and a few others I've already invited."

"Oh, I will, will I? You want me to point out who I think is a rat in the nest and then you'll cart them off to be tortured and executed?"

"No, they will be questioned and detained until further notice if they are deemed suspicious and I might remind you that withholding information pertaining to any of these people is a direct violation of the terms under which you agreed to live here. You work with us, not them. Your loyalty is with us, not them. These are not your friends, Haymitch—at least, not until they've passed all necessary tests."

Haymitch thoughts of Jax, a boy raised by his siblings who could be put in chains in the deepest cells simply because he came from District 2. He thought of Stave losing his head completely and attacking a citizen of Thirteen, thus earning him solitary confinement for a condition he could not prevent. These people had just walked into a trap without any idea that the doors closing behind them were unlikely to ever open again for some of them.


	3. Chapter 3: Seed of Rebellion

Waiting on the other side of the double-sided mirror seemed to Haymitch to be building unnecessary tension. These victors and the people Praxis had chosen to be potential leaders of their districts were already under enough stress and drawing out this selection process was not only irrelevant, but annoying and Haymitch wasn't even a part of the process. Praxis still made him remain in the observance room as he and Alaida went out to greet the newcomers. Twenty-four soldiers stood at ease around the circumference of the room, but the fact that their weapons were not sheathed was clearly making the refugees nervous.

Including the victors, fifteen people had answered the summons and now they stood in a circle of their own, all facing outward as if expecting an attack. As Praxis welcomed them, Renner was the only one to actually return a small smile while the others regarded him with suspicion. Kao and Glaze were the first to start asking questions in rapid fire motion when Praxis raised his hands for silence and spoke his piece.

"I'm grateful that you all have chosen to leave your homes and aid us in this rebellion. I understand that many of you lost several people in your escape, but I assure you that by doing your part here, their deaths will not have been for nothing. For those of you who don't know, I am Commander Praxis Septum, leader of District 13 and this is my daughter, Alaida."

Haymitch saw Jax Bender lean around Kao to get a better look at Alaida and smiled to himself. If the boy thought Alaida was one to bend easily to the charm of a bloodthirsty would-be tribute, he was in for a big surprise.

"I've asked the victors and those who I've been in direct contact with to gather here to ask if you would agree to become spokesmen—and women—for your districts. The plans we have to overtake the Capitol can only be achieved with cooperation from each district and I need to ensure that there is a leader amongst the few. Can I rely upon you all?"

"Well, what exactly is going to happen in those districts with more than one attendee?" asked Silica, motioning at herself and her brothers.

"I will leave the final decision up to you."

"No need; she's your spokeswoman," said Kao, nudging Silica who scowled at him.

Judging that Beetee would take over leadership for his district seeing as how he was the sole surviving victor, and the most dangerously brilliant man alive, Haymitch felt that at least one district's rebels were in good hands. He could not say the same for the others, starting with Four which had a short, flyaway haired man with eyes extremely close together that suggested extreme concentration or madness. He introduced himself as Ven, touching a finger to his forehead as a sign of greeting and respect, though Haymitch had hardly ever seen this motion used outside of the Capitol.

Cyan, Cobalt's twin had been sent as representative of his district, though it was probably owing to the fact that he was a victor's sibling. Logic stated that if Cobalt had had the cunning and skill to make it through one and a half Games, his brother must possess the same capability, but that was up for debate. Haymitch didn't take kindly to the notion since it meant he would often be in close proximity to Cyan and the subject of Cobalt's death was sure to crop up.

Slone of Six was accompanied by another man who could have been his brother, though Haymitch knew Slone to be an only child, so this man had to be a close relative. Without debate, Slone offered to speak out for his people and the other man remained silent. For Seven, Stave seemed to be in control at the moment, but no one in their right mind would put him in a position to make decisions for an entire district, regardless of whether or not he was a victor, so a woman named Luath was selected by Praxis on principle.

Flax from Eight reminded Haymitch of Topper except that Flax had blue eyes so pale they were almost white, wide open and watery, though the rest of his face suggested mischief and condescending remarks galore. Of course Axle represented Nine, Renner stood in for Ten, and the most enormous man Haymitch had ever seen had reported for Eleven. The man would have made even Thresh look like a child, standing at least six and a half feet. His head was shaved, his eyes gold, and his teeth startlingly white as if he had done everything he could to stand out among his people. He only muttered his name and Haymitch couldn't hear, but Praxis must have, for he didn't have the man repeat it. Rounding out the refugee leaders was Bastian Mercer looking quite cool and collected with half a smile on his face as he observed his fellow rebels and Haymitch instantly put him down on the mental list to not trust whatsoever. It was just too much of a coincidence that the Capitol's best blacksmith had chosen to evacuate his cozy home and give up his life of luxury to aid a small band of rebels.

"Well, now that we've all introduced ourselves—"

"Who's standing in for Three and Twelve?" asked Slone.

Haymitch knew Praxis had deliberately delayed his entrance for dramatic effect and timed it so that Katniss and Beetee would be joining Haymitch in his grand reveal, his resurrection and theirs.

"I think you'll find these rebels sufficient," said Praxis, motioning at the door and gritting his teeth, Haymitch opened the door to allow Beetee and Katniss through. There were gasps of shock at Beetee, a few swear words for Katniss, and complete silence for Haymitch. Before the gap could go too long, Praxis explained how the three of them had survived in short order; how Katniss and Beetee had been given serum vials that would make them appear dead to all Gamemaker radar, how they were picked up by a rebel hovercraft, how Haymitch's death had been staged with reports saying that his departure train had been hijacked and he had been dragged off into the woods where both Peeta and Effie heard a gunshot.

Slone was the first to move, striding forward to Haymitch and clapping him soundly on the shoulder. He was no Chaff, never interacting with Haymitch to the point where he could be considered a good friend, but he was certainly a good acquaintance and the translator for the mostly mute morphlings. For him to show genuine happiness that Haymitch was alive and well earned him the top spot on the list of those who could be trusted and being one of the stronger yet approachable victors, his talents would be well received.

The others came forward one by one to shake Haymitch's hand, to hug Katniss, to smile at Beetee but none of them had any idea that Haymitch was unwillingly judging each of them based off of their handshake and expressions. In the list of those who were more likely than not planted in their midst by Snow were Bastian, Glaze, Axle, and Cyan. Those who Haymitch figured were trustworthy were Slone, his district partner, Stave, Luath, Ven, and Renner. A third listed consisted of the people who Haymitch couldn't get a read on: the three Benders, Flax, and the District 11 rebel.

"We have plans that will take the Capitol by complete surprise, something that will be so unexpected that by the time they've recovered from the shock, our forces will be scaling the walls to Snow's mansion," said Praxis once everyone had greeted one another. "But before we can discuss these plans, I must ask that you all submit to a search, just as your district partners have. You understand that we are aware of Snow's intelligence and if he didn't send at least one spy in with all of the refugees, I would consider it a great insult. Your belongings will be examined, your clothes searched, and unfortunately one more, ah, necessity must take place before we can convene our first war council. Once you've been thoroughly searched and cleared—_if_ you've been cleared—you will be assigned living quarters sectioned off by district and then shown to the cantina in shifts for your evening meal. Afterwards, I ask that only the representatives of each district attend the council. The rest of you will be called upon as needed, so don't consider yourselves any less important."

Kao's somewhat smug attitude took a turn at this speech and he made a discreet motion, stepping ever so slightly in front of his siblings. "Hold up just one second, commander. You're telling me that your soldiers will be probing us with latex gloves and sticking rods up into us to search for hidden microphones and cameras?"

"To put it bluntly, yes," said Praxis warily.

"No," said Kao. "No love-starved man's going to strip my sister naked and no sick minded molester is going to put his hands on my brother. Stripping us of our last bit of privacy is the Capitol's job and if I'd have known you were going to demand this of us, I'd have stayed in Two. We're humans, you sick fuck, and if you want our cooperation as well as our help, you'll keep your hands off of us. And consider this: you need Two more than at least three of the other districts combined because we're closest to the Capitol, the base of the military operations, the home of the Peacekeepers in training. Throw us out and you might as well surrender to Snow now."

"I have to agree with Kao on this one," said Ven. "There has to be some other way to prove that we have no Capitol contraptions on us. I don't mind having your people sift through my few belongings as long as they're careful about it, but I don't take kindly to being treated like I've already committed a crime."

"I find personal inspection more accurate than our machines," said Praxis. "These were the terms you agreed to—"

"We agreed to submit to _a _search, but you never specified," Silica corrected. "And I'm sorry, but probing a boy who's not yet eighteen is just immoral."

"You can go through the machines if you submit to a quick pat-down and agree to take a pill that allows us to completely scan your DNA so that nothing goes unchecked," said Alaida. "It's not as personal as a strip search, but an outline of your body will be looked over by officials."

Praxis shot Alaida a warning look as if to remind her that she was not in charge, but Jax spoke out with enthusiasm, preventing the commander from telling his daughter off.

"I like her idea."

"Then please remove your bags and step apart so that our soldiers can quickly pat you down before you head off to the machines," said Alaida calmly.

Young as she was, Haymitch could see this woman becoming a great leader among the rebels with her wisdom, kindness, and willingness to accommodate. She must have taken after her mother because she shared no part of Praxis's personality.

Glaze dropped his pack and placed his hands on his head as one of the twenty-four soldiers strode forward to begin searching him for concealed weapons or machinery. One by one the refugees set their belongings on the floor, though Kao did so with a scowl, glaring at the men who were examining his siblings. Axle looked indifferent, Bastian bored, but as a soldier touched Stave, the District 7 victor panicked, eyes widening and arms flaying wildly in what he must have felt was a defensive motion.

"He's just afraid," said Luath quickly, rushing to calm Stave and the soldier nodded in understanding, stepping back to allow Stave. Another soldier, however, grabbed Stave from behind, trapping his wrists in a tight grip.

"This will go easier for you if you do as you're told, now stop squirming!" shouted the soldier and Haymitch knew what was going to happen seconds before it did. The soldier saw Stave as a threat, a potential spy who knew he was about to be exposed and wanted to detain him before he could cause anyone damage, but Stave saw the soldier as the threat as his mind reeled back to the arena where everyone was an enemy and a hand on him meant a tribute trying to snap his neck.

"No, don't!" cried Luath, but Stave had already broken the soldier's hold on him and spun around, shaking him and closing his hands around the man's throat. He was going to kill the man just as he had killed the final tribute in his own Games.

A third soldier raised his gun to shoot Stave in the back of the head and Bastian wrestled the weapon out of his hands, but not before a bullet discharged. Another soldier prepared to ram Stave in the back of the head with the butt of his gun but Haymitch tackled him around the waist. He heard Praxis roar, "Hold your fire!" and saw the refugees forming a protective circle around Stave, but it was the first soldier, the one who had backed off who threw his weapon aside, ran to Stave, and took hold of his face.

"Calm," he said in a loud, but level voice. "There's no danger. You're safe, Stave."

Stave's eyes settled on the soldier, transfixed, but his hands still shook on the other soldier's throat who was slowly turning blue in the face.

"Help me," said the first soldier and the District Eleven representative pressed down on the inner parts of Stave's wrists, activating the pressure points that made him release his attacker. The first soldier continued to speak to Stave, reassuring him of his safety and gently guiding him to his knees so that Stave was now looking up into the man's face.

"Sedate him," said the soldier and one of his fellows handed Luath a syringe which she pressed into the space between Stave's neck and shoulder. In seconds, Stave's eyes slid out of focus and the soldier lowered him to the ground, setting his head down with the tenderness of caring for a newborn babe.

"Thank you," said Luath. "I'm so sorry that I didn't warn anyone, but I thought he'd understand what we were all doing."

"He did understand, but the traumatic memories in his mind triggered a panic," said Beetee.

"Someone take Callen to the infirmary," Praxis ordered. "Search Stave and then get him in the machines as soon as you can. I don't want him to wake up and have another meltdown."

"It's not a meltdown," said Luath angrily. "He's handicapped and it's something he can't help. He's incredibly smart and strong and you'll be happy to have him, if you just give him a chance."

"If I may," said the first soldier, "I would like to speak with him when he wakes up just to make sure there's no hard feelings. I assure you that if I had known his condition, I would not have grabbed him so suddenly and so I'm afraid his panic was my fault."

"No, you helped him and for that I'm grateful," said Luath. "That's how I manage to calm him down, but how did you know?"

"My son suffers from the same type of symptoms," said the soldier and for the first time Haymitch noticed that the man had the look of a District 1 individual with light brown hair, a pointed face, and a rather evil-looking smirk. "My wife and I have learned how to deal with his little outbursts and fifteen years of practice prepares you for larger events such as this. I've never dealt with such a large scale fit before, but it could have been much worse."

"Thank you, sir. Thank you so much."

"Soldier Niles Holbrook at your service, ma'am. Might I bring my son along with me when Stave wakes? I have hope that it would do both of them some good."

"Of course."

Holbrook helped to carry Stave out of the room as the rest of the refugees continued with their pat-down and Slone murmured, "I'll be damned."

Haymitch muttered a quick apology to the soldier he had taken down and then went to the District Eleven man, offering out his hand. "That was a very decent thing you did there in helping Holbrook without breaking Stave's wrists."

"You don't need force to make someone submit," said Eleven. "Find their weakness, exploit it, and they'll go down easy."

_Sounds like advice straight from the Capitol. Military strategy._

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name when introductions were being made," said Haymitch.

"He said his name is Garrod," said Katniss, coming to Haymitch's shoulder and staring open mouthed at Garrod. Some sort of understanding passed between the two and feeling that he was missing something vitally important, Haymitch cleared his throat.

"Something I should know here?"

"Yes," said Garrod. "I'm Rue's father."


	4. Chapter 4: All Talk

After the incident involving Stave, Praxis decided to hold off the war council until the following day, leaving the time slot after supper open for whatever the newcomers wished to do. Even though Haymitch was supposed to report back to his quarters since his evening activities had been suspended, he ignored Praxis's orders and set out for the training room. Unfortunately, the majority of those who Haymitch had met earlier were now in the training facilities where Beetee was designing them specialized weapons. It wasn't that Haymitch was jealous of the fact that Beetee showed no favoritism to Haymitch and Katniss even though they were the combined face of the rebellion; he just didn't want to train alongside victors again because it would be sure to bring on more nightmares about possibly killing them in his sleep.

To no one's surprise, the former Careers favored spears, axes, and swords, though Beetee promised slight alterations to fit needs or wants. The exception was Silica who described the blade she had used in her Games to Beetee and who then went to practice archery with Katniss. Surprised at her company, Katniss shot Haymitch a look that asked, _Are we making friends with Two?_

Haymitch shrugged. It had been too long since he carried the answers to her questions, though he would have said _no_ after watching Kao instructing Jax on a how to properly decapitate someone using the edge of a spear point with Jax looking positively gleeful.

"You might want to stand back," said Glaze and Haymitch realized that he was blocking the man's path to a line of practice dummies. A rack of weapons on wheels trailed behind Glaze.

"You're a bit rusty, aren't you? You haven't fought for almost three decades."

Glaze chose twin swords with one side of each ever so slightly curved. Beetee took Glaze's measurements to have him fitted for a harness that would allow him to strap his swords across his back in an "x" fashion. Since winning, Glaze had fashioned himself as a weapons performer, specializing in his twin swords. He looked as if he was attempting an elaborate dance with fluid movements, sweeping his weapons in wide arcs to fend off any enemies creeping up behind while advancing on whomever he was facing.

The gelatin dummy in front of him encased a human skull and fake innards as well as a blood substitute (real blood was far too precious to waste on practice corpses). Glaze stood five feet from the dummy and sliced into the stomach one time with each sword before decapitating the dummy. His movements were blurred and he had killed his inanimate enemy before Haymitch had a chance to step away from the dummy to avoid being splattered.

"I think I surpass your 'rusty' proclamation, Mr. Abernathy," said Glaze, sheathing his swords.

"But how would you fare against a real opponent who doesn't stand still to let you hack at him?" asked Silica from the shooting range.

"Are you volunteering?" said Glaze with a grin.

"No, but he is," said Silica, pointing with her bow at her older brother.

Kao favored a machete, much shorter but with a wider blade in his left hand and his right was now refitted with a blade since he was now in training instead of lounging about or assisting in hard labor.

"I don't think that it would be a fair fight in facing off against a handicap," said Glaze, watching Kao closely with the faintest hint of a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth.

"You might think differently once I stick this handicap up your—"

"Come now, Kao, we all know that your bullying attitude won't get you far here."

"I bring more to the table in man-on-man combat, One. Last I checked, I was the one who took out other tributes with my own hands whereas you took the high ground and turned into a pyromaniac."

In this battle of words, Glaze's eyebrows pulled together in what looked like fear, but a second later he shook his head in an attempt at shaking Kao's accusations off. "I only recall seeing a savage boy use fear to his advantage instead of—"

Kao chucked his machete at Glaze's head, shaving off an entire lock of his hair. The weapon hit the floor some feet behind Glaze, but neither man moved, sizing each other up. The rest of the refugees and victors surged forward in case they had to pry the two apart, but then Kao's face broke into a wide smile and Glaze began to laugh until both of them were short of breath.

"So, this is what victors do as children are put up for slaughter and the nation starves to death?" said a voice from the elevators. Topper stepped out onto the floor, leading a very confused-looking Stave. "You joke around about people you've killed and decide who has the biggest balls by mock battling each other. None of you deserve your titles and that boy," he pointed at Jax, "is being influenced by the rest of you."

"You think my sister and I haven't raised our brother right?" Kao demanded, all signs of laughter gone from his face. "Have you ever had to take responsibility for anyone but yourself?"

"I brought this one down here, didn't I?" Topper gave Stave a shove between his shoulder blades to get him moving. "Mentally unstable idiot that he is; that's all you lot are when you come out of that arena. You're either bloodthirsty narcissists or brain damaged morons."

"Let me handle this," said Axle as half the victors and representatives took a menacing step towards Topper. With his spear still in hand, Axle came within half a foot of Topper's face and then drove the point down into the smaller man's boot. Topper opened his mouth to scream and Axle slapped his hand over it with a sound that echoed across the room.

"You tell anyone about this and I'll take the whole foot off, you little shit. You don't know what happens in the arena; your district is the only one with no right to judge us. If I ever hear you insult the victors again, we'll have Games of our own and I promise you, you'll be the first one dead, slow to die. Now get the fuck out of here."

Topper stumbled towards the elevator, hopping along to keep off of his wounded foot and Axle returned to his target throwing station to the admiration and intimidation of the others. Some like Glaze and Kao obviously approved of his methods while Flax and Garrod wore contemplative expressions as if wondering what to make of the mostly silent but deadly victor. Jax looked on in awe, but Silica frowned and turned back to her lessons on archery with Katniss.

"You disapprove?" asked Stave and Haymitch jumped in alarm since he had neither heard Stave approach nor ever heard him speak in person.

"I—do you?" asked Haymitch doggedly.

"I would prefer for my enemy to make himself openly known and deal directly with his threats rather than live in fear of when or where he might show up. Axle confronted that man outright, unlike Snow who sends us pieces of a puzzle that we only manage to fit together once it's too late."

Stunned by the fact that this was the most Haymitch had ever heard Stave talk with his interviews, Victory Tour, and mentoring sessions combined, he had no reply ready, but he did guide Stave over to Beetee so that he could choose his weapon. Luath walked him through all the different types of weapons, but since Stave had never actually wielded one before, all of them were foreign to him. Finally, after watching them go through the line for the fifth time with no luck, Haymitch grabbed the first weapon he could reach off of the table, which happened to be a one-handed axe, and shoved it into Stave's hands.

"There, now go get fitted and then report to the gun firing range," he said impatiently.

"Report?" said Renner who had come over to get his own fitting. "Have you been promoted in rank since we first saw you three hours ago, Haymitch?"

"No, but if we want Stave to do anything, he needs to be given an order, otherwise he'll just stand there and even then there's a fifty percent chance that he'll continue to stand there."

"I resent that," said Stave, once again surprising Haymitch with his alertness.

"Stay on your toes, Haymitch. You never know when he's listening," said Luath with a smile.

"Then that gives me hope that he'll be of some use in battle if Praxis ever sends him out."

"You're one to talk," said Katniss, joining them at the weapons table. "Praxis has a low tolerance for rule breaking and you're pressing your luck."

"When he needs me, he knows I'll support him as long as his goal is to put Snow down, but I'm not going to walk in a straight line with my shirt tucked in and say, 'Yes, sir', whenever he barks. Yielding to his every call will only potentially make him another Snow."

"You ought to be careful how you phrase that," said Cyan, polishing his two-handed sword. "Anyone else would call it treason."

"I'm not calling for a rebellion against Praxis. I just think that he needs to step down or deflate his head and work _with_ us instead of _above _us."

"You try suggesting that to him and see how he takes it," said Beetee. "If you spent half as much time trying to listen to him as you did purposefully avoiding him, you'd realize how much stress he's under and the risks he took to help us. We, Katniss, you, and I, owe him our lives, but especially you because he _personally_ put himself in danger to escort you here off of the train. He was there to pick you up in the hovercraft above the arena and he was there when you woke up to make sure you didn't get yourself killed."

"And I'm sure we're all thankful to Praxis for putting himself out there for us, but did any of you—not just Katniss and Beetee—notice that he did that to ensure that we'd be indebted to him so that when he calls upon us for help, we'll have no choice and no say in the matter?"

The silence that followed this statement was absolute and even those who had fled their Districts because they wanted to assist in the rebellion rather than look for a safe haven looked like they were reconsidering their decision. Had Praxis manipulated them like Snow did, taking them in and rescuing them against potential disaster, just so that he could request their assistance whenever he wanted? Were they really so naïve that they built up this fantasy of being safe to ignore the fact that Praxis had set them up?

"We'll all have to individually save him if we want to pay off our debts," said Stave. "For starters, whoever exposes the spy will have their debts covered."

As if there wasn't enough tension between them, Stave's comment caused them all to stare each other down, uncomfortably aware of the weapons in their hands.

"Did anyone say it was one of us?" asked Slone. "It would be just like Snow to pit us against each other, assuming that _we_ would assume that one of the victors or most highlighted rebels was the spy. While we're trying to pick each other apart, the spy could very well be one of the seemingly weak refugees. Until we know for sure, don't share information freely, but be friendly. Snow knows that people have fled, but he doesn't know where to, and he allowed it, which tells me that he planted his spy here intentionally."

"And on that happy thought, Praxis wants you, Mr. Abernathy," said Niles Holbrook from the elevator. "There's someone here to see you."


	5. Chapter 5: Humanity

"Did Praxis say who this special guest is?" asked Haymitch as he, Niles, and the other guard rode the lift.

"We were only commanded to escort you," said Niles flatly, staring ahead at the numbered dashboard. From the little experience Haymitch had had interacting with the guard, this seemed like a big step away from the man's previous attitude towards him and he was about to say so when Niles jerked his head towards the upper right-hand corner of the lift. A camera sat in place, reflective black screen facing them. Their conversation was being recorded, so Niles's true feelings about the situation would not be spoken here.

Only then did Haymitch realize the lift was heading _downwards_, towards the emergency bunkers and cellblocks. Guests should be treated and met in the upper levels for processing and welcome from Praxis or other higher-ups, so why the hell were they headed for prisoner containment?

"Uh, are you sure we're heading towards the right level?" he asked.

"Positive," said the other guard, though if Haymitch read his expression correctly, he looked downright pissed off.

"Should I know something before we—"

"No," said the second guard. "But I'll be taking that sword before you go in and returning it to training."

As Haymitch handed over his weapon, the blade retracted into the hilt at the guard's touch and inwardly, Haymitch praised Beetee's ingenuity. Just then a soft _ding_ announced their arrival on the designated floor and as Haymitch made to step off the lift, Niles said quietly without moving his lips so that the camera wouldn't pick it up, "Keep a level head."

Wondering what on earth this advice was about, Haymitch walked towards the door a short distance from the elevator grilles and when he pushed the door open, saw quite clearly what Niles had meant.

A man lay atop an operating table and two more stood above him. The man was bald, though there was a pale patch atop his head where sunlight had never shone and the genetically tanned skin did not reach. His dyed eyebrows had almost returned to their natural, dark brown color, and instead of a glittering suit he wore the plain grey one-piece of District 13 citizens, only his was marked with a giant "P" on the front. His mouth was agape, teeth exposed in pain, only they were stained in blood, no longer uncommonly even and pearly white. Blood soaked through his jumpsuit so that the red to grey ratio was more than half. As Niles and the other guard followed Haymitch in, the man opened his eyes, eyes that pleaded with him for mercy.

"Caesar."

Praxis turned around at the sound of Haymitch's voice and held up his hand to the semi-masked man beside him as an order to stop whatever he was doing—and by the looks of it, he had been just about to pull Caesar's fingernails off.

"Haymitch, glad you could be bothered to set aside a section of your busy schedule to come to my summons," said Praxis.

"What the hell are you doing?" asked Haymitch, striding forward to where Praxis stood. Perhaps the torturer read aggression with hostile intentions in Haymitch's actions (and he was right), for he stepped in front of Praxis, warding Haymitch off with a wicked-looking hooked knife. In turn, Haymitch moved to block the torturer off from getting to Caesar Flickerman who was making awful moans of pain behind him.

"I am attempting to secure the final preparations for winning this war before it starts while you and your fellow victors play 'who has the biggest gonads' in the training facilities."

So, Praxis was spying on Haymitch now, was he? There were no cameras or microphones in the training facilities, but Praxis had his ways of finding whomever he wished to see without the use of such equipment. The fact that Haymitch's privacy was in jeopardy because of Praxis's observant behavior made Haymitch even angrier at the dictator.

"That doesn't answer my question. It looks to me like you're in the process of mutilating a human being for no reason other than personal satisfaction—and it stops right now."

"That's not your call to make," said Praxis. "I sent various special ops teams into the Capitol to abduct noteworthy hostages: ones who might know Snow's plans and ones who Snow might want returned to him. When we set our plans into motion, we will reveal our hostages and exchange them for our terms or Snow will be the one to see televised executions. These are necessary measures to obtain the peace that you and I both wish for."

"You call _this_ necessary?" Haymitch thundered, gesturing at Caesar. "You call this _humane_? You've got more coming to you if you think I'm going to stand here and let you continue to torture this man. I played the Games twice, Praxis, and I never once resorted to tormenting my opponents to get answers or set an example; that's the Capitol's job. The Capitol, Snow, and all those who work under him, not Caesar Flickerman."

"How many children has this sadistic fool sent to their deaths, Haymitch? He made them talk as they sat terrified of the people, knowing they were going to die and he glorified it. He's hollow; he doesn't feel any genuine sorrow for those twenty-four children who come in each year like pigs for slaughter. He saw you off twice to your death and didn't think twice about it. And you're standing there _defending _him?"

"They make the children kill each other," said Haymitch, trying not to look at the small trickle of blood running off of Caesar's fingertip and making a puddle on the floor. "And by they I mean Snow. Caesar's as much of a pawn in their Games as anyone. He was given this job and when it continued to pay well and kept him alive, he stuck with it, knowing that by saying he couldn't do it anymore was to admit that he disagreed with the Capitol. It's not an honest way of living, but he doesn't deserve this sort of treatment for it."

"Do you think he'd defend you if your situations were reversed? Do you think he gives a damn about what happens to you?"

"No, because he was raised a coward like everyone in the Capitol. Pampered, preened, and never wanting for anything. He doesn't know what life is truly like for us. He was born into a society that brainwashed him."

"Which makes it easier to kill him off. He can't think for himself, so he has little use."

"He's one of the more intelligent people in the Capitol. He's valuable and above all, he's human. Torturing him gets you nothing but personal satisfaction and why should you—who gave the order to do this to him—gain any satisfaction from this? He never hurt you; his actions never affected you. Let him go."

"I think you forget who gives the orders around here, Mr. Abernathy," said Praxis.

"I think you forget that if we want to win this war, we have to act like humans and not replicate what happens in the Capitol," Haymitch retorted. "If we want there to be a difference between us and them, it has to start by treating POW's as well as civilians like people, not slabs of meat."

"This man is not a civilian—"

"If you think you're going to get information out of him, you're just ignorant. He's a game show host, not a Capitol insider. He has no links to Snow and the president wouldn't bat an eyelid if you sent in a televised video of Caesar's execution. If you'd like to _talk _to him, you'll have to earn the right." He unstrapped Caesar from the table and half-carried, half-dragged him towards the door. Move," he told Niles and the other guard who had hesitantly crossed their gun nozzles over the door handles.

"Let him pass," said Praxis.

Haymitch loaded Caesar onto the elevator and jammed the button for the level to his living quarters. Before the lift started its ascent, however, Niles and the other guard stepped onto the platform with him with Niles shooting him a look of warning. Infuriated that they had known about Caesar's treatment and yet hadn't spoken out to stop it, Haymitch spoke to neither of them, slowly tiring with the effort of holding Caesar up as the elevator made its way to the upper levels. Finally, when they arrived on Haymitch's level, he readjusted Caesar in his arms and with a huff of exertion, started to climb the stairs to his pod four landings up. Niles and his companion followed closely behind him to catch them if they should topple backwards.

After the first set of stairs, however, Haymitch knew he wasn't getting much further without some assistance. "You know, the least you two could do is help, damn it," he growled at the two guards.

The second guard handed off his weapon to Niles and draped Caesar's other arm around his shoulders. "Fair warning; you're going to get a lot of stares from here on out if you keep this man in your care."

"And that's supposed to bother me?"

"No, but it should make you wary. Some people might attempt to—prevent you from helping out your Capitol friend here."

"He's not my friend."

"So you're going through all of this—challenging Praxis, risking confrontation from other rebels, taking full responsibility for him—because you don't give a damn about him, is that right?"

"Who the hell are you, anyway? Your attitude is a little too Topper-esque for my liking."

"Don't compare me to that prick," said the guard. "I'm Crewe and I'm not here to start a fight. I just want to know how your mind works."

"Snow told me that the good people of Panem would pay to know how my mind works. He was willing to offer me money for me to sell my body and my thoughts, so what makes you think you'll be able to find out with less than that to offer?"

"Maybe because I asked."

"Sorry, but I don't give up information so easily to people who've yet to earn my trust. Niles over there has a few points going for him because of his sympathy towards Stave, but you're just another face that'll blend in with the hundreds I've already seen."

"What can I do to earn that trust, then?"

This question caught Haymitch off guard. A man was actually asking him what he could do to earn Haymitch's utmost respect instead of demanding answers and truth from him. Struck by the kindness of the act, but still unprepared to answer, Haymitch touched his forefinger to the pad outside of his pod and the door slid open to allow him access. Crewe moved to set Caesar down on one of two twin bunk beds, but Haymitch held him back.

"He's covered in blood; he's not going on the beds."

"Well, where else are you going to put him? In the shower?"

No, that wouldn't do. Haymitch's shower cycle wasn't for another three hours and he needed that time for himself, to cleanse himself of the worries and stress of the day. However much he wanted to help Caesar just now, he couldn't give up his own shower privilege for him. After all, Caesar wasn't the one who had participated in the Games—but he was still leaking blood onto the floor and Haymitch had nowhere to put him.

"I can override that obstacle," said a woman's voice from behind Haymitch and he turned to see Alaida standing there beside Niles. She wasn't smiling, but her face, so like her father's, was not hardened just now. "I'll allow you two shower privileges for the day until a schedule can be set up to accommodate both of you since it appears that Mr. Flickerman is now a resident of Thirteen. I assume you are willing to share your quarters with him?"

"Looks like I'll have to, seeing as how no one else in this place would take him in and I don't trust him to be left alone with Capitol haters on every level," said Haymitch.

"Very well. Tend to him, Haymitch, and keep close watch over him. If you need anything, come to me directly. I'll have a tray of food and medical supplies sent up. Soldiers Holbrook and Crewe, return to your posts."

"Yes, ma'am," said Niles and Crewe in unison and left.

When they had gone, Alaida lowered her voice and stepped completely inside the pod so that no prying ears could hear her. "Haymitch, you've made my father extremely angry with this open act of rebellion in choosing a Capitol resident over the rebels. I'm not saying that what you did was immoral, because it shows your humanity and demonstrates how the Games have made you more sympathetic and appreciative of human life, but my father is already frustrated with you for not cooperating to the level that Katniss and Beetee are. He did personally go to retrieve you from the train, not either of them, and if there's one thing that matters more than anything to my father, it's respect. Perhaps, if you started showing some to him, he would return the favor by listening to what you have to say."

"No offense, ma'am, but your father and I will never agree on the best way to fight this war. If he insists on acting as dirty as the Capitol, I'm going to fight him every step of the way. I've had my share of violence when it comes to those sorts of things. That's not to say I won't fight with the rebels when the time comes, but this treatment is not only wrong, it's sick."

"Would you have the same frame of mind if you had seen a Peacekeeper or a random Capitol citizen being tortured, or are you emotionally compromised by the fact that you know Caesar Flickerman?"

Haymitch frowned at her. What was it going to take to get it through their heads that Caesar was not a friend? "Katniss Everdeen is my friend. Slone of District Six is my friend. Cobalt was my friend until he started playing for personal gain in a manner the Capitol would be proud of. Caesar Flickerman is a man known to me, no more and no less, but he _is_ a man, which means I'm going to stick up for his right to be treated as one."

"Be it on your own head then, Haymitch."

Alaida left him but moments later Haymitch heard a cool female voice over his loudspeaker say, _"Resident Two of Pod 842, report for cleansing_". He lugged Caesar over to the bathroom and into the shower where, fully clothed, he started to peel Caesar's own blood-soaked clothing off of him. Caesar's eyes snapped open as the hot water jets turned on and he gave a scream of pain, attempting to stand up, but Haymitch forced him back down and held his head under the stream of water. Watching the blood run down off of his face was like seeing him simultaneously sweat and cry red waterfalls. A vivid flashback of a woman's eyes turning scarlet as her body filled with blood made Haymitch panic and slip, landing on his back beside Caesar with the water beating down onto his face.

Nursing the back of his head, he tried sitting up, but was attacked by Caesar whose hands found his throat. Haymitch blinked furiously against the blood and water pouring down onto him, but all he could see was the terrified face of Caesar Flickerman fighting for his life against an enemy. Instead of prying Caesar's hands from his jugular, Haymitch slapped his hand over Caesar's nose and mouth, cutting off his oxygen so that Caesar was forced to throw himself back to gain breath and then Haymitch tackled him, knocking the shower curtain down. He shoved Caesar up against the shower wall with his forearm pressed to Caesar's Adams apple.

"Stop it!" he shouted as Caesar beat his fists at Haymitch in an attempt to wriggle free.

"Let go of me!"

"Shut up, damn it. It's me, Caesar, look at me!" Haymitch slapped Caesar with the back of his hand, then held his head steady to force eye contact. "It's Haymitch!"

All at once, the fight went out of Caesar and he sagged against the wall, sliding right down onto the floor where pools of watered-down blood ran into the drain around him. Haymitch knelt before him, snapping his fingers in Caesar's face to get his attention.

"Hey, can you hear me?"

"Yes," said Caesar heavily.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who I am?"

Caesar looked up and Haymitch was shocked to see the hostility, the _hatred_ he found in those large, brown eyes. "Yes, and I wish to God that I didn't."


	6. Chapter 6: A Favor

Having Caesar glare at him from the opposite side of the pod was not a good note to end the long, trying day on, but Haymitch didn't feel secure about turning his back to the ex-host, nor did he want to close his eyes when the man who demonstrated his perfectly capable capacity to strangle him was still wide awake. Haymitch had exited the shower to allow Caesar some private time and placed the spare uniform Alaida had sent right outside the door. Even after the shower shut off, Caesar remained in the stall for over an hour until finally cracking the door open to claim his uniform. When he came out, his skin was freed of all blood besides the cuts and bruises that had been inflicted upon him from Praxis's men. Refusing his meal, he gingerly lowered himself onto the bottom bunk of the one Haymitch didn't occupy, and lay there, staring at Haymitch with the utmost loathing on his face to the point of being unsettling.

When Haymitch could take the stony silence no longer, he sat up and said quietly, "Look, Caesar, _I_ didn't order them to come after you. If I'd have known you were being brought in, I would have done something to stop it, but I didn't know, so if you could stop glaring at me like I was the mastermind behind this, that'd be great."

Caesar turned carefully onto his side to prop himself up, wincing as he did so and Haymitch suspected that he had cracked ribs which would need tending to in the morning. "You couldn't keep your mouth shut on national television. After our last interview, Snow visited me and asked me what you had said to me off camera. I told him the truth and he seemed satisfied, so he bade me good day and left and I returned to life just as I always do between the end of the Games and the Victory Tour, only there was no Victory Tour this past winter because our Victor was considered long dead, so the Capitol broadcasted a rerun of your Games to remind everyone of what happens to rebels. Then, not four days ago, as I sat in my library reading, I was seized, beaten, dragged, and stuffed into a car, then an aircraft. They beat me into unconsciousness and I awoke to a knife peeling skin off of my thigh. They tortured me for hours before you came down into the cells."

"Then you know that I spoke out against your treatment?"

"I heard you, even if I was half conscious," said Caesar, regarding Haymitch with a scowl. "You said that I was born into a society that specialized in brainwashing its citizens and while that is true, I'm an exception. I'm not clueless or stupid, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to dodge around all of your accusations during your interviews, and I would have gone the same way as Seneca Crane. I didn't buy into the bullshit that your train had been hijacked and that you, the single most dangerous person on it, was kidnapped and killed. Oh, Effie Trinket and Peeta Mellark both say that they heard the gunshot, but the train took off before they could investigate. It was then impossible to pinpoint the exact location that the train had stopped, so there was no way to investigate the surrounding forest for your body. So Snow fed the Capitol the same story he always does when someone he disapproves of goes missing and the public breathed a sigh of relief, if somewhat subdued with shock, that the most jarring victor in recent history was taken care of, leaving them free to enjoy their Games once again. And to think that all this time, you've been sitting down here twiddling your thumbs."

"I have not," said Haymitch indignantly. "If you're not as stupid as the rest of your people, then you'd know that I've been recuperating and training to put Snow down like the mutt he is."

"Plotting to kill innocent people, how noble of you," said Caesar distastefully.

"Oh, shove it up your ass, Caesar. I don't know what our plans are, but I know they end with Snow dead and the Capitol in ruins to give the power back to the districts. Yeah, innocent people will die, but not because we go seeking them out; they'll die in the crossfire as we aim for those responsible for suppressing _my_ people. If you don't want to be caught in that crossfire, I suggest you make yourself comfortable here and hide away until _my_ people accept you because right now, this pod is on lockdown to prevent Capitol-haters from getting to you. I went out of my way to save your pathetic ass because I'm a decent human being, so don't you sit there and lecture me about murder when you've sent four decades' worth of children to their deaths with that stupid plastic grin on your face in a new suit and newly dyed hair each time. Born and bred in the Capitol, you have no fucking idea what it's like to—"

"I wasn't," said Caesar, cutting Haymitch off.

"Wasn't…what?" said Haymitch, nonplussed.

"Born in the Capitol. Bred, to a degree, but not born," said Caesar flatly. "I came from District 4. My mother died birthing me and my father gave my older sister and me up for adoption. A stagnant couple from the Capitol claimed me when I was seven and my sister was left behind. I grew up in the lap of luxury and saw my first Games from within the Capitol when I was eight. My sister was reaped that same year. She placed fourteenth, dying by being strangled by the female tribute from District 12. Twelve years later, I replaced Caius Lighttower as host of the Games and brought a new taste to the interviews. Where before Caius had been a solemn, no bullshit kind of host who reminded the tribute of their imminent doom, I was uplifting, supportive, caring, and comedic. False, yes, overwhelming cheesy, yes, but I like to think that my gestures were some of the last friendly ones those children ever saw. I wanted to give them what Caius never gave my sister. I pitied every single child that I had to send into the arena and I wish that I could have done something worthwhile for them, but I do value my own skin and any gesture of kindness that did not seem artificial to Snow would have been seen as an act of betrayal and he would have had me _replaced_, so I did as I was told. You may not have done the same thing, but we can't all have balls of steel like you, Haymitch Abernathy."

Haymitch sat in silence, weighing the truth of Caesar's words. The man was an accomplished liar; he had proven this over decades of broadcasts, swaying the conversation towards Capitol-friendly topics whenever someone mentioned anything too rebellious. How much of what he said was true? Was he just feeding Haymitch falsehoods to earn sympathy from him? Perhaps Haymitch could force him into taking one of the tests that Alaida mentioned that detected lie telling…

Caesar erupted into a fit of coughing and clutched his stomach, face twisted painfully as the jarring movement upset his brutalized body. Haymitch jumped down from his bunk, ran to the untouched dinner tray, and brought it to Caesar so that the latter could help himself to the pain pills and water that had been set on it. Forcing the pills through his clenched teeth, Caesar slurped the water so that half of it ended up on his pillow, but he didn't seem to mind as he continued to cough. Placing one hand against his back, Haymitch slowly brought him into an upright position and gave him one good thump so that Caesar stopped coughing, only to vomit his water right onto the floor.

The cool female voice announced the arrival of visitors outside of Haymitch's pod and he stepped nimbly over the pile of puke to unlock the door. On the foyer he saw Praxis, accompanied by the strangest trio Haymitch had yet to see within Thirteen: Niles, Flax, and Meela, a guard and good friend of Alaida's.

"May we come in?" asked Praxis conversationally and though Haymitch stepped back to allow them in, he moved in front of Caesar who was moaning in a bent-double position. When he saw his visitors, he knocked the contents of his tray to the floor with a loud clatter and held it up defensively.

"You come near me and I'll bring this tray down on your head with enough force to fracture it and then I'll watch _you_ bleed," he spat at Praxis, but the commander held up his hands for peace.

"I did not come to hurt you, Mr. Flickerman, only to brief you on your role now that you are spoken for."

"You could have done that by sending one of your guards," said Haymitch. "You want something from him, otherwise you wouldn't be paying us a visit at four o'clock in the morning."

"Always assume the worst, don't you, Haymitch?" said Praxis with a frown.

"But I'm right."

"You're an arrogant toadstool—"

"You want something from him after what you did to him? You have the _gall_ to come knocking on my door hours after I removed him from a torture chamber and face him like this as if nothing happened, thinking that you can calmly ask a favor of him?" said Haymitch incredulously. "Are you stupid or insane?"

"It was not entirely his idea," said Niles to break the tension, though since Praxis looked capable of murder just now, he may have waited too long to intervene. "After I escorted you back here with Mr. Flickerman, I personally went to Commander Septum and asked that he allow me to gather willing contributors to my cause."

"Which is what, exactly?"

"While Crewe may have seemed confused as to your motives, I saw them clearly for what they were and that is defense of the helpless. I saw it when we welcomed the other district leaders and I saw it when you spoke out for Mr. Flickerman. You push ahead brashly to defend those who are in no position to do so and though your own motives are for the best, the people of Thirteen in addition to many irate district refugees may see your defense as betrayal. There are many here who would like nothing better than to get their hands on this Capitol citizen if only to gain personal satisfaction for all the hurt they've endured. Caesar Flickerman will be dead by the noon meal if he isn't given protection, and that's where my proposal comes in. Commander Septum agreed to reassign my duties if I could persuade Mr. Flickerman to contribute to our cause."

"And what cause is that?" asked Caesar, eyeing the visitors suspiciously.

"All in good time," said Praxis. "For now, Soldier Holbrook will be leading the team of personal bodyguards for you and Haymitch, if need be. He and Soldier Roth here command authority over any other soldiers, guards, or District Thirteen citizens who would wish you bodily harm, Mr. Flickerman. Meanwhile, as the rest of the district spokesmen and victors are asleep, Flax comes on their behalf to say that at least one individual from each district has agreed to keep order amongst their people if any ill feelings towards you should arise. You have Katniss Everdeen to thank on that front; I hear she spoke out for you when some of the districts proved to be less-than-accepting of this additional task."

"Well, I'm flattered," said Caesar, groping his way to his feet but still leaning against the bunk frame for support. "But you wouldn't agree to that unless you needed me much more than you care to admit, so before I say no, I want to know what you think you have the right in asking me to do after you had me flayed when you _knew_ that I didn't know anything, you sick bastard."

Acting as if he had not been insulted, Praxis said stoutly, "You are a new asset to the rebellion's cause. Our plans will work much more smoothly with you in place and many more lives may be saved in this year's reaping, which has always been your goal, if I'm not mistaken."

So, Praxis had Haymitch's pod tapped, did he?

"Look here, you little shit, you can't invade my privacy like that by putting microphones and cameras in my room!"

"I saved your life at great personal risk to my own, Haymitch Abernathy, I can do whatever I please."

"You'll have all of that shit removed by morning or you can lead your rebellion without my help, Katniss's, or Caesar's, and if I leave, so will half of the districts."

"They'll be removed," said Meela. "Can you just let him speak, please?"

With a nod of appreciation to her, Praxis continued, "Once you have been briefed on your assignment and given a substantial amount of training in the necessary fields, Mr. Flickerman, you will be returned to the Capitol. You will host the Games and you proceed with the reapings and interviews. You will divert the attention elsewhere once the Games begin so that we can accomplish what is necessary. If all goes well, you will have no one to fear on either side of the war, but if you play us false, my spies will be standing by."

Haymitch and Caesar exchanged looks, not quite sure if they had heard Praxis correctly. The rebellion rested on Caesar complying with Thirteen on keeping Snow, the Capitol, and all of Panem focused on certain elements of the Games while the rebels carried out their orders to overthrow the system. The whole idea was so ludicrous, so inconceivably idiotic and far-fetched that Haymitch wanted to laugh, but he didn't. Caesar did, though, and it was painful to listen to.

The false teeth he wore for the broadcasts were missing so that his regular set were exposed in what looked like a sneering smile. The guffaw he had perfected to goad cheap laughs out of the audience was replaced with a maniacal cackle that made tears appear in his eyes as the motion set his ribs aching and he sank down onto the bunk, clutching his stomach as Praxis, Niles, Flax, and Meela stood by questioning his sanity.


	7. Chapter 7: Provocative

In hindsight, Haymitch should have known better, but he relied on his fellow district representatives' attitudes extending towards all the refugees instead of figuring that several of them might have some hostile feelings towards Caesar. One week following Praxis's proposal, Caesar was able to move about with almost no telltale sign of his injuries, having been treated for his ribs and put on morphling, but he hadn't yet left the safety of their pod. At Meela's insistence that he would come to no harm on her watch, however, Caesar finally decided to take his meals in the cantina.

The journey there was uneventful, but Caesar seemed reluctant to leave the elevator once they arrived. In the end, Haymitch ended up having to forcibly pry his fingers off of the metal support bar and push him out from behind. Caesar kept his head down while passing through the line to retrieve their portioned cut of bear meat, turnips, mashed sweet potatoes, and goat milk, and positioned himself between Haymitch and Meela with their backs to the wall in a booth near the far end of the room. No one looked twice at them, but halfway through the meal Flax of District Eight, Farler of District Six, and Rue's father Gerrod joined them.

"Do we need so many of you for one meal?" asked Meela in an undertone. "Farler, you shouldn't even be here; your dinner is at seven, not five thirty."

"Niles got it changed for me," said Farler, a bald man with the face of a man in his late fifties and the biceps of the fallen tribute from Two, Brutus. "If something goes down, you'll be thankful to have me."

"It's not that I don't appreciate any of your help, but why are you all _here_ instead of at your assigned district tables? Some rule-worshipping fool is likely to notice and call you out on it and then we'll have a scene on our hands."

"Again, Niles has been looking ahead and he sent us in because Topper's meals are at five forty-five and that little shit is guaranteed to cause a disturbance," said Flax, piling his turnips onto his bear meat and wolfing the entire thing down into two bites. For such a small man, he had the appetite of someone Gerrod's size. "You know, Flicks, if you were to officially declare that you were working for the rebellion, it would earn you twice as many allies in comparison to the number of enemies you currently have."

"I've asked you not to call me that," said Caesar without looking at Flax.

"Yeah, well Praxis asked you to do your part for the rebellion, but hey, that isn't happening either."

Caesar reached across the table and grabbed Flax's wrist, gripping his cutlery knife in the other hand. Farler moved to break the two apart, but Flax waved him off, grinning.

"So, our pampered Capitol pet has a temper and a little fight in him, does he?"

"Flax, shut _up_," said Haymitch, not wanting a repeat of Caesar's meltdown from the shower.

"You've got two weak points, Flicks, one is your pride and the other is your memories. Someone insults you, digging into the real Caesar Flickerman and not the game show host, and your inner warrior comes out. Someone brings up the subject of what Praxis did to you and under threat of recollection, your body goes into defense mode. This is something we could use on the battlefield, but if you can't control yourself there, maybe you can go back to doing what you do best and that's holding an audience in the palm of your hand. I don't expect you to ever forgive Praxis for what he did to you, nor would I in your position, but if not for him, do it for all the rest of the people whose children you would save if you could. You always wanted to help them, right? Now you can with no fear of consequence from Snow."

Caesar's hold on the knife lessened, but he was still clutching Flax's wrist in a vice-like grip.

"You just do as instructed and we'll see that the children make it out safely. If anyone is to blame for what happens during the Games, it'll be the new head Gamemaker, because I doubt Heavensbee is still in charge after the Quarter Quell fiasco. No one need ever know that you were playing the entire Capitol for fools and by the time anyone knows what's happening, we'll have pulled you out of the Capitol until we seize control. You'll be deemed a hero alongside Katniss and Haymitch amongst the districts."

"A hero?" repeated Haymitch's current least-favorite ally, Topper with his usual cronies standing behind him. He was limping, Haymitch was pleased to see, but apparently Axle's threats didn't weigh too heavily on him, for he had returned to invoke chaos where it wasn't needed. "The day Caesar Fucking Flickerman is awarded the title of hero is the day I hang myself from my pod."

"Then let's try to speed up the process," said Flax distastefully.

"Don't start anything. Just keep your heads down and _you_, return to your meal, soldier," said Meela to Topper.

"You expect me to eat in the same room and breathe the same air as _a Capitol civilian?_" shouted Topper with emphasis on the last three words so that he would be sure to grab the attention of everyone in the cantina. Hostile faces turned towards them, people craned their necks or stood up to get a better look at Caesar and as they all began to recognize him, Haymitch, Flax, Farler, and Gerrod stood as one.

"Commander Septum has called this man here on personal invitation to help us in the final stages of our infiltration of the Capitol," said Flax cautiously to Topper. "He's to be treated as a refugee, not an enemy and you'd best get that into your head, you moron, because I don't play as nicely as Axle, Soldier Dickless. Step back now or this is going to turn ugly real fast and you're not going to come out victorious."

"Not even with the entire cantina at my back against all—" Topper counted heads amongst Haymitch's group, "—six of you? Oh, no, I miscounted; I included the Capitol rat as a man."

Caesar launched himself across the table, tackling Topper around the middle. Both of them went down, one of Topper's men moved in to help, and chaos broke out. Haymitch heard Meela calling for backup as the guards by the door attempted to calm the raging crowd, all of whom were trying to get at Caesar for attacking one of their own. Gerrod lifted one of Topper's cronies by his belt and hurtled him bodily into the crowd, pushing back seven men on his own. Flax had a woman trapped between his shins in a headlock as he wrestled with a man who was trying to throttle him. Farler dove into the fray, emerging with his arms around Caesar who was still kicking and clawing at Topper who had a hold on Caesar's ankle. All three men had bloody noses and cuts along their necks.

As Farler attempted to barricade Caesar behind their booth table, Haymitch saw Kao, Jax, and Renner appear. All three stole the guards' weapons and fired them into the ceiling, knocking out the lights, which plunged the entire room into darkness. Someone screamed—of course, someone _always_ had to scream when the lights went out, and then the emergency backup lights went on, dousing everyone in a faint green light which made silhouettes out of those still standing. Haymitch found Topper in the semi-darkness, punched his forearm to make him let go of Caesar, and then helped Farler put the game host behind them. Meela and the defending men joined together to put distance between Caesar and the crowd as Kao, Jax, and Renner wended their way through to reach them, now weaponless after having given back their guns to the guards.

"You handled this well," said Kao once he reached Haymitch's group.

"It was that little shit, Topper," said Flax somewhere to Haymitch's left.

"What the hell is going on here?" yelled the voice of Commander Septum, striding into the cantina to see the majority of its occupants on their knees with hands over their heads to signify submission. His head turned towards the back wall where Haymitch's group were huddled together, facing outward, and Haymitch didn't need to see Praxis's face to know that they were all in serious trouble.

"Let me do the talking," said Meela beside Haymitch as the crowd started parting for Praxis and Alaida to reach them. "I mean it; everyone else keep quiet."

"This is the final straw. I will not have Thirteen descend into such savage chaos as the other districts because of a handful of rogue victors who believe themselves above anyone who's never stepped foot in the arena. Haymitch Abernathy, you are sentenced to thirty days of solitary confinement. You and the representatives of Two, Six, Eight, Ten, and Eleven can escort yourselves to the cell levels for processing while you still have some dignity left—"

"With all due respect, sir, they weren't the ones to start the fight," said Meela. "They were approached and provoked by a civilian of Thirteen and Mister—I mean Soldier Flickerman scuffled with said civilian before the victors and representatives attempted to defend him."

"_Soldier_ Flickerman started the fight, did he?"

"Listen," said Caesar, pushing his way through his wall of defenders to confront Praxis.

"I will not be given even the simplest of orders by the Capitol's finest advocate for the slaughter of children—"

"No, _listen_!" Caesar insisted, pointing upward.

Haymitch perked up his ears to hear what Caesar obviously already could. It was a faint humming sound, like a radiator left on, but it was accompanied by that of what Haymitch could only describe as static amplified to monumental proportions. As the seconds trickled by, it grew louder and louder still until it seemed to be perched right over them.

"Hit the deck!" Flax shouted, hauling Farler and another civilian onto the floor. Haymitch looked about for Caesar, but the host was already flattening himself over Meela and behind him, Jax had launched himself at Alaida to shield her as the ceiling began to collapse, raining debris on them. Kao and Renner threw themselves underneath the table. Gerrod's enormous hand closed over Haymitch's head and pushed him down just as a wall of flame erupted above them. The heat burned through Haymitch's uniform, sizzling against his bare skin and he gave a cry of pain that went unheard amidst the screams of the cantina crowd. Dust rained down on them followed by enormous chunks of concrete that squished many individuals underneath them. A slab landed on top of one woman, crushing her on impact, but her body created the gap between the concrete and Haymitch's legs. He could see her brains leaking out onto his pants, feel the weight of both her and the slab, but her body protected him from the brunt of the impact.

Then, all at once, the noise stopped but for a ringing in Haymitch's exposed ear. His ribs vibrated with the thrum of the final slab landing on the floor and ever so slowly, he raised his head off of the ground. He could see daylight a quarter of a mile above him and the ruins of all the levels between the cantina and the surface in the shape of a giant square.

_So, it wasn't a bomb_, he concluded. _This wasn't a surface attack. Something inside caused the collapse._

"If you're still alive," called Gerrod close to Haymitch, "don't move until help comes and try not to breathe too heavily if there's gas on the air."

If something could be said for District Thirteen's soldiers, it was that they had impeccable timing, for no sooner had Gerrod issued the command that rescue crews arrived, fully outfitted for lifting debris off of the flattened crowd almost as if this was routine. Nurses distributed water as they eased themselves down from the upper levels and began to pick and choose their patients. Cries and shouts of pain rose to a din, but Haymitch had to make himself heard so that someone would get the crushing weight off of him.

"Gerrod…"

Dirt particles settled in his eyes and he blinked furiously to see properly, now screaming for Gerrod. Then, Rue's father was there, lifting the block of concrete with the assistance of Kao and Farler. All three of them had equally devastating-looking burns, cuts, and bruises, but together they were able to free Haymitch who immediately started flexing his legs to see if he still had the ability to move them. He choked back a sob of relief as feeling returned to them and he saw the unidentifiable face of the woman who had unknowingly saved him. Farler hoisted him to his feet and he swayed ungainly so that Farler had to drape Haymitch's arm around his shoulders.

Several feet from where he and Gerrod had went down, Haymitch saw Flax crawling out from another block of debris that had fallen in such a way that it just fit around him instead of smashing him underneath. Only when he stood up did Haymitch see that Flax still had a hold on the man's hand who he had attempted to save—but the rest of the man's body had not come with it. Kao went to Flax, speaking softly, comfortingly to him, and gently pulling the disembodied hand out of Flax's grasp.

"Caesar!" Haymitch called, coughing on the dust in his lungs. "Caesar!"

"Here," came a weak voice and Gerrod pushed yet another slab out of the way to find Caesar still bodily protecting Meela who had been knocked unconscious. He was breathing in a choppy fashion as if the pathway to his lungs had been blocked off and Haymitch suspected that his newly mended ribs had been shattered once again as well as a punctured lung or internal bleeding. Gerrod beckoned a nurse to them, but Haymitch made Farler press on through the crowd to look for the remaining survivors of their team. Ahead of them Kao was not troubling to avoid treading on the limbs of the dead as he toppled concrete, electrical wires, and tables to find his brother.

"Jax! Jax, boy, you'd better sound off if you're alive or I swear to God when I find you, I'll—"

"Shut up and give me a hand," said the youngest Bender, shaking dust out of his hair as he held out a hand for help.

"Is Commander Septum alive?" shouted someone from above.

"Yeah, he's alive," responded Jax, "but he's been impaled on some metal piping and it's pinning him to the floor through his thigh. You'd better get somebody down here or he's going to bleed out fast."

Not sure what he felt towards discovering that Praxis was still alive, Haymitch turned on the spot when something closed around his ankle with a feeble grip. He panicked for all of two seconds before he saw Topper holding onto his boot, his face stained in sweat, blood, and tears. Farler set Haymitch down to try and dig Topper out, but Haymitch held him back. Topper's torso had almost been completely severed in two by the chunks of ceiling that fell onto him. Adrenaline was the only thing fueling his body now.

Haymitch made Topper put his head on the ground and placed his hand on the back of Topper's neck, soothing the skin to calm him, though at this point he doubted that Topper could feel such a gentle touch. The hand that held Haymitch's boot gave a few small twitches and then his eyes glazed over. Feeling sick to his stomach, Haymitch turned away to vomit so that he wouldn't expel his bodily fluids over Topper's body when he saw another body lying broken and unmistakably dead under the remains of a table.

Renner.

Farler sank to his knees beside Haymitch and together, they both puked, filling the air with the ripe scent of sourness in addition to the musty tang of metallic blood and clotted dust.


	8. Chapter 8: The Grand Scheme

"An _accident_?" thundered Farler as he, Haymitch, and the representatives from the districts sat around the oval table in the council room. Those who had been involved in the cantina incident looked severely beaten with some of them sporting slings, leg casts, heavily wrapped blood-stained bandages, and braces.

Renner, Topper, and twenty-four others had died in the collapse on the cantina, though a series of crippling injuries nearly made the count thirty-seven if not for the fast action of the nurses and volunteer rescuers. Among the more severely injured were Caesar, Alaida, and Praxis with internal bleeding, a ruptured appendix, and an out-of-body broken elbow respectively. Theirs were the worst of the wounds, and all three now sat around the table looking pale and drugged. To replace Renner as District Ten representative, a woman named Nollie had volunteered and she too looked irate when Praxis, his arm taped to his chest to avoid movement, explained that the cause of the collapse was a misfire from their hovercrafts on the sub-surface level hanger.

"Twenty-six people dead, one of them a personal friend of mine, and all you can say is, 'it was an accident'? That's complete horseshit!" Farler shouted, looking ready to spring at Praxis, but Slone and Glaze held him back.

"Yes, I'm calling it an accident because that's exactly what it was and I can call it that because I was in that cantina as well and suffered a greater injury than you when my entire elbow bone was poking out of the skin. I'm right handed and am now incapacitated until I'm healed while you can still waltz around with nothing but a few bumps and scrapes."

"I thought you didn't approve of the 'who has bigger balls' game," said Haymitch, cutting Farler's response short. "Eleven of us were in that incident, one of us died, and the rest got random draws of luck on how seriously we were injured. No one's playing up or down their injuries because it could just have easily been worse."

"All the same, it _was_ an accident," said Alaida in her level voice to calm the storm. "Farler, you and your district representatives acted accordingly in responding to those injured and for that you have my personal thanks as well as my father's. I would like Silica to extend my gratitude to her brother Jax Bender for throwing himself over me at the last moment, much like how Caesar Flickerman protected one of our own soldiers. The men in the cantina acted together, even when it would have been easier, quicker, and more beneficial to fend only for themelves, which is why there is now no doubt in my mind that you all can participate as a team on a real battlefield. Ladies and gentlemen, my father and I have agreed that it is now time to reveal the grand scheme which will lead to Snow's downfall when we raze the Capitol to the ground. And in order to accomplish this, we will need Soldier Flickerman."

All heads turned towards Caesar who had been sinking lower and lower in his seat as the morpling took its toll on him. Eyes bleary and bloodshot, he suddenly snapped to attention, reaching for a pencil as a weapon as Flax sharply called out his name. Now far too used to this type of startled behavior from Caesar, Haymitch laid a practiced hand over Caesar's wrist and shook his head.

"Are you alert enough to receive this information, Soldier Flickerman, or do I need to summon a doctor to shoot you up with an attentive drug?" asked Praxis.

Pulling his hand back to rest it in his lap, Caesar glared at the commander. "In your case, Septum, I'm always alert."

"Then prepare yourself—all of you—because what I'm about to tell you does not leave this room until such time that I give the order to disclose it and I warn you, you're not going to like what you'll hear."

The attention was eerie; Haymitch knew it only too well as the silence that followed the announcement of tributes in District Twelve. Praxis directed their eyes to the board behind him which immediately lit up with graphs, maps, lists, and blueprints.

"The 76th Hunger Games will continue, but they will never finish. Snow knows that after Haymitch and Katniss's act of rebellion, people are taking their lives into their own hands and abandoning the districts, but he still has control over Panem, which gives us the advantage. He doesn't know that we exist, even though he most likely planted one or more of these refugees in our midst, so he will never see us coming. At this point he expects small resistance forces that prove to be more of a hindrance than a problem. Meanwhile, he'll highlight Haymitch's supposed murder as a reminder to all of those who oppose him and make these next Games completely brutal, but he won't expect us to have people on the inside."

"Wait," said Katniss slowly. "When you say people, do you mean you'll be able to get your people into the Gamemaker room?"

"Well, there is that, but something else as well," said Praxis with a wry smile. "We will have our people—trained, skilled people—in nearly every position possible, including inside the Games themselves. As we speak, children are being briefed on their duties once chosen as tribute for their district. These children are all aware of the dangers, but they have willingly agreed to take part in the plan to bring down the Capitol, and so they have secretly been training as well as studying so that upon entering the arena, they can covertly alert the other tributes of our scheme so that there is minimal bloodshed. By having some of the children be part of our plans, we are securing the fates of those children who think that this is the end of the line. Our goal is to get all twenty-four children out alive, but that largely depends on how soon we can breach the Capitol. From the moment the gong sounds signifying the beginning of the Games, we will have soldiers seizing important officials and covert teams making their way into Snow's mansion as well as secondary teams in hovercrafts who will be rescuing the children once Beetee shuts down the force field with the help of our false Gamemakers. All teams will strike at once and the ultimate goal is to capture Snow by taking control of the mansion. From there, Panem will be ours. I've been working with my own intelligence team as well as the information from Bastian Mercer on Snow's counter measures since he would be stupid to have not equipped the city with a last form of defense if rebels ever got past the walls."

This fact did not make Haymitch feel any better about the situation since Bastian Mercer was one of the individuals on his do-not-trust list and yet Praxis was taking his advice, giving him full access to battle plans, and ignoring Haymitch's advice.

"The next step in completing these plans is to position teams in the districts to make contact with the pre-selected tributes. There will be four teams, one deployed to four separate locations during the reapings to ensure that all goes according to plan and that the correct tributes are selected. In each district, those assigned must work under cover of darkness and avoid detection by cameras at all costs. You will return here by hovercraft once the reapings are over. To District Five, Squad One with Soldier Crewe as team leader, Cyan Jerrick, Ven, and Luath. You will be briefed on the required tributes once you leave the bunker. To District Nine, Squad Two with Soldier Waylon as team leader, Axle, Gerrod, and Slone. To District Two, Squad Three with Soldier Holbrook as team leader, Kao, Silica, and Farler. And finally, to the Capitol on special escort for delivering and preparing Soldier Flickerman for his grand re-entrance, Squad Four with Soldier Meela Roth as team leader, Glaze, Bastian, and Flax—"

At this point, Haymitch as well as several others had realized that they were either separated from their preferred parties or left out entirely and so he added his voice to those of anger. Alaida called for silence once again so that her father could speak and he looked especially grim as he did.

"I realize that some of you are not partaking in this mission, though it is not for the reason you might think. Nollie of Ten, forgive me, but compared to the others as well as your predecessor, you are not equipped for likely battle, and I would prefer to keep you safely here with the rest of your people, but do not feel excluded. You will be in the operations room, overseeing all that your fellow representatives do and given that you train hard, you will be ready for the final assault when the time comes. Luath, I trust that you will do well in replacing Stave, who might not be entirely aware of what is going on—"

"He'll be upset when I tell him, but if he has to watch me on the screens, it might make it worse," said Luath in concern.

"I'll arrange to have my wife and son entertain him while you're gone," Niles offered. "Stave seems fond of my son, so I'm sure it won't be a problem."

"Beetee is hard at work on breaching the Capitol's security and radio waves so that we will have constant contact with Soldier Flickerman, so District Three need hardly feel left out. As for Twelve…"

"I think that's a deliberate act to keep us grounded," said Haymitch with a bit of a snarl.

"As always, Haymitch, you think that the world is out to make your life miserable, which is actually correct in this case. We're already taking great risks in sending out non-native district members to other districts, but imagine if by some unlucky stroke of chance, the cameras picked up the faces of Katniss Everdeen and Haymitch Abernathy. Our entire plan would be shot. No, you and Soldier Everdeen will remain here in operations and you, Haymitch, will be Soldier Flickerman's personal correspondent. He seems to at least trust you to some degree, so he will respond to you and that is where you shall be until commanded otherwise."

"You're forgetting one person, though," said Silica, and though she looked calm, her fingernails were digging into her skin in clenched fists. "My little brother."

"I've already spoken to Jax concerning this matter and he has agreed to participate as one of the selected tributes of District Two," said Praxis. "You and Kao are being sent home because once he is selected, you will be interviewed, sought out, and sympathized with, and it would look quite strange if he was selected as tribute, but his victor siblings were not present. You must board the train and enter the Capitol since you are both mentors and from the inside you will provide us with any information that Soldiers Flickerman and Mercer cannot provide, as well as helping to contact the tributes who have been pre-selected. I realize that you fear for your brother's life, but your family should be far too used to sending siblings to the arena and you should take comfort in the fact that Jax will not be competing, but acting as leader amongst the tributes. He has seniority over the other informed tributes and they have been instructed to look to him for guidance. He also has the ability to keep Districts One and Four under control if the tributes need persuading to join our cause."

Caesar began to laugh again and this time Praxis had more than just a skeptical look to spare for him. "What's so amusing, Soldier Flickerman?"

"You do realize that this is the biggest pile of mutt shit plan ever conceived? There are so many loose ends, flaws, and loopholes, that even _my people_ could see through it! You're sending unproven district representatives back out into plain view of the Capitol, not knowing if any of them are spies in the hopes that they've all learned to work as a team just because a select few banded together when the cantina collapsed? Are you that naïve or just stupid, commander? Someone in this room is taking all of this information in and as soon as you send them out onto that hovercraft and plant them in their designated districts, they'll alert the Peacekeepers of not only Thirteen's location, but your entire plan and everyone involved who's still out in the districts and the Capitol, including myself, will be executed, then the Games will continue as always for decades to come and everyone in Thirteen will be wiped out."

Praxis strode over to Caesar's side of the table, looking like he would very much like to throttle him, and Haymitch stood up, pulling Caesar's wheeled chair aside to prevent either of them from going at each other.

"We have considered all of this, Caesar Flickerman," said Praxis, seething. "Do not think that we are sending the representatives out unchecked. When and if the traitor reveals himself, we will know, and trust me when I say that justice will be served."

"Oh, I'm sure some form of it will be served, though favoring which side is hard to say."

Praxis made a grab for Caesar but at that moment a commotion outside caused them all to veer around as the door slid open to reveal two unconscious guards lying at the feet of Kao Bender who had a firm grip on Jax's upper shoulder. Silica groaned and put her face in her hands as Kao stomped over to Praxis and gave him a hard shove. Niles cocked his weapon, but Praxis made him stand down.

"You weaseling son of a bitch, you go behind _my_ back talking to my baby brother about putting himself on the fucking front line of the Games?"

"Hot-headed as you are, Kao, you don't see the boy's full potential," said Praxis.

"I wouldn't think twice if he was going into the Games just for the Games' sake and not for yours. He'd win, no doubt, and that'd be the end of it, but if he gets caught or if the plan goes south, they'll torture him and then execute him publically and that's something I'm not going to see, not for the rebellion, not for justice, and certainly not for you."

"Kao, Jax is an adult, perfectly capable of making his own decision on this," said Silica gently, but Kao cut her off.

"You shut up. You knew about this and didn't say anything to me either—"

"I only just found out, you blockhead—"

"Is no one going to realize the fact that I volunteered to do this, or are you going to keep talking about me in third person like I'm not here?" shouted Jax angrily. "I watched reruns of you and Silica volunteering, Kao, and I lived up to this point always wanting to prove that I was just as noble and worthy as the two of you, but when you had us pack up to move here, I thought I'd lost my chance to do something to measure up to your standards. You took that away from me, so I'm doing what I can to bring that chance back and my age should have nothing to do with it. Here I'm Soldier Bender, _Soldier,_ not 'kid' and not 'boy', so as a soldier, I'm contributing to the cause you dragged me into."

"I second that," said Alaida, flashing Jax a smile that did not go unseen by her father.

Kao, who seemed to be struggling with inner demons, did not let go of his little brother's arm, and so Haymitch stepped in to break the grip.

"You'll always see him as a kid, as your responsibility, Kao, but some have to grow up faster than others and his childhood ended when he became a rebel. You'll be with him up until he goes into the arena, and if Praxis plays his cards right, there'll be recovery teams standing by to lift him out if there's any danger, isn't that right commander?"

Of course, Praxis would not be sacrificing his soldiers solely for Kao's peace of mind and Jax's safety, but if the lie calmed Kao, no one would be the wiser.

"Do you support me, Kao?" asked Jax, brother to brother.

"You know I do, but doesn't a lot of this depend on him?" Kao jabbed his thumb at Caesar.

"Indeed," said Praxis. "And his training, as well as the training for all of you who are going out into Panem, begins now."


	9. Chapter 9: Nearsighted

"You weren't even trying that time," said Haymitch as Caesar rolled onto his stomach and lay there panting and groaning after being walloped by the simulator for the eleventh time. Caesar made an obscene hand gesture at him and then grudgingly dragged himself back to the starting point with the faint scent of burning rubber following him. It was only upon further inspection of his shoes that Haymitch saw that Caesar had stepped on one of the moving obstacles that always burned piping hot when they repositioned themselves. How Caesar managed to accomplish _that_ was anyone's guess.

"I think we should take a break," Haymitch offered.

"Are the others still watching?" asked Caesar with a sarcastic roll of his head towards the opposite end of the training facility where the others were practicing in their designated teams in the same type of simulation as Caesar. Only, where Caesar was having trouble getting through the first ten yards, the others were going through their fifth and sixth run-throughs, having completed the previous courses with flying colors.

"Yeah, they are."

"Then we go again."

"You don't have anything to prove, you know."

"Haymitch, shut up, just shut up and let me do this. I'm Capitol spawn, remember? I'm everyone's enemy and until I prove otherwise, I'm expendable. Besides, if this half-assed plan goes wrong, I need to be able to defend myself."

"And no amount of training is ever going to change that if you just aren't built for it or ready for it mentally," Haymitch pointed out. "You remember that boy from District 12 about ten years ago, Zenith? He was just like Peeta Mellark in his build, top of the wrestling class, an absolute marvel in anything physically related, but he didn't have a mean bone in his body and the fear of dying in the arena made all of those skills worthless because he didn't have the mental capacity to do what he needed to. There's been dozens of kids like him and it doesn't matter if they're built like Brutus or like you; if it isn't in their head to do what needs to be done, there's no point in trying to make them into something they aren't."

Caesar grabbed the butt end of his rifle and smacked Haymitch in the stomach with it. Having no reason to anticipate a move like this, Haymitch stumbled back and seconds later Flax and Farler were behind him.

"Back off," Caesar warned.

"Stand down or I'll put you down, Flicks."

"Go for it."

"No, it's okay," said Haymitch, massaging his stomach. "Everything's fine here, really. Go back to your teams; I've got this."

Flax rolled his eyes. "Everyone in Thirteen knows you don't have this, Haymitch. The man's incompetent and he won't be camera ready in four months with just you training him. He's solid on lying, but every man has his breaking point and Praxis broke his when he brought him here. That'll show on camera unless he's confident he can not only pull off the heist, but that he can also slip away from his desk, dart out into the streets, and make a clean escape on his own if he needs to. It's been a month already and he's made no progress with just you at the wheel, so let me have a go."

"You're not exactly a morale booster, Flax."

"He doesn't need a morale booster; he needs his ass handed to him by someone who's not afraid of his emotional state. Now, come on, Flicks. You'n me are going through this simulation together. Stay right behind me and cover me."

"I'm not going in there with you or anyone else," said Caesar defiantly. "I won't have any of you there if you somehow manage to pull of this mound of manure Praxis calls a plan. How he ever got to be commander…"

Farler clapped Caesar upside the head and Caesar lunged for him, but Flax had foreseen this sort of reaction and he seized Caesar around the middle. Despite being smaller, Flax was certainly stronger than his opponent and though he clawed at Farler with everything he had, Caesar was going nowhere in Flax's hold.

"You know what," said Flax over the sound of Caesar's struggling, "A thought's just occurred to me. You two keep tabs on the overexcited puppy here and I'll be back in less than half an hour."

With no prior warning, he dropped Caesar unceremoniously on the floor and dashed off to the elevators, leaving Haymitch and Farler to contemplate his motives while Caesar ran through the simulation again, this time with near disastrous results that ended with Haymitch having to slam on the emergency shut off button to avoid decapitating him.

"What was that?" Haymitch cried as Caesar uncovered his head and swatted at his steaming jumpsuit. "You tell me what the hell that was supposed to be! You ran straight towards that ray, were you _trying_ to get yourself sliced in half?"

"I didn't know it was there," said Caesar indignantly.

"_Didn't know it was there_?" Farler repeated. "The thing is bigger than your bald head, you idiot, how could you _not_ see it? What, are you blind?"

Haymitch saw Caesar shift his shoulders uncomfortably and wipe sweat out of his eyes and a sudden idea occurred to him. "Wait…Caesar, you _can _see, can't you?"

"Of course I can."

_Are the others still watching_? At the time, it seemed like an obvious question to ask, but perhaps Caesar had slipped it in, hoping that it would seem so to Haymitch while really it was a legitimate question. He had asked Haymitch if the others were still watching because he couldn't see far enough to tell for himself.

"Caesar, what does that sign over the door say?" asked Haymitch, pointing to the plaque above the stairwell door which read, "Unless otherwise noted, all civilians are to use stairs at all times".

Caesar glanced in the direction Haymitch was pointing, but his eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second in a telltale squint.

"You're nearsighted, aren't you? That's been your problem the entire time; you can't see a damn thing coming at you, so that's why you fail every simulation. Couldn't you have just told me that you needed a pair of eyeglasses?"

"I don't want to rely on your people any more than I have to," said Caesar.

"Our people? If not for some of our people, you'd still be in that torture chamber or dead—"

"If not for your people, I wouldn't even be here."

"Sending another batch of tributes to their deaths, right? Didn't you say you wanted to put a stop to that? God, you are the biggest hypocritical liar to ever walk the—"

"Good news," said Flax brightly, striding up to them with an official-looking paper in hand. "I just got permission from Praxis to take some of our soldiers up to the surface to participate in an airlift. My argument was that he didn't want the least experienced members to cost us the entire operation by having their first hostile encounter be during the actual event, so we're all suiting up."

"All of us?" asked Farler in surprise.

"Well, some of the most experienced will be tagging along to keep things under control as well as some of Praxis's men. According to the paper Praxis signed off on, we've got Luath, Cyan, Jax, Glaze, Katniss, Haymitch, Flicks, you, and myself."

"So besides Flicks, who's the inexperienced ones?"

"Jax, obviously, who hasn't been in any type of combat yet, and Cyan and Luath. Five of us to protect four of them, plus eight or nine of Praxis's soldiers. It's a big airlift and the equipment is necessary, otherwise he wouldn't risk sending so many of us out there, but we'll only be a short ten miles from Thirteen."

"When is this airlift happening?" asked Haymitch.

"Tonight, why?"

"Because we need to take Caesar to an eye doctor first. I don't want him shooting into my ass if he thinks he sees something."

"What's wrong with your eyes, Flicks?"

"Nothing, thank you very much," said Caesar curtly.

"He's nearsighted," Farler explained. "Can't see five feet in front of his face. Must be a side-effect from watching television screens for two decades."

The corners of Caesar's mouth pulled back like a snarling animal. "I hate you two so much," he growled.

"You don't have a reason to, Flicks. We're on your side, in case you're too blind to notice."

"Okay, enough of that. Caesar, come with me and we'll get you fitted with a pair of glasses until I can talk to someone about eye surgery. It's a wonder you lasted so long as a host without some form of surgery."

"Snow wanted me to, but I told him that it wasn't necessary as long as I could see the television screens," said Caesar.

"Well, if you want to make it out of the Capitol alive, Flicks, you're going to need to be able to see perfectly as far as it's humanely possible, otherwise the Peacekeepers will swoop down on you before you get ten feet from the studio door."

"Thanks, Flax."

Riding the hovercraft to the airlift location was as freeing as Haymitch had felt since arriving at Thirteen, especially since this was his first time above ground. He hadn't noticed how utterly pale the lot of them were until he saw them with sunlight reflecting off of their waxen faces. Still, the fact that Cyan had come along made him slightly uncomfortable since Haymitch wasn't entirely sure that the man had forgiven him for outliving his twin—and he hadn't been checked off the list of possible spies. After the _accidental_ collapse, Haymitch had ruled out the District 2 refugees as well as Flax, Farler, Slone, and a handful of others, but while Praxis's people were still in the process of questioning rebels from other districts, Haymitch had kept his reservations about Bastian Mercer, Cyan, and Glaze to himself.

The others were looking curiously at Caesar who had a pair of glasses on that made his eyes look two sizes larger than they actually were. Caesar kept adjusting the strap on his weapon in anticipation until Glaze finally reached over, smacked his hand down on the it, and gave Caesar a warning look that clearly said, _Stop fidgeting or I'll shoot you with your own gun._

"Two minutes out," said Crewe who was the soldier in charge of the airlift. "Remember, stay in tight formation, protect the extraction crew, and keep your eyes open. Your partner is to remain in your sights at all times. The whole thing should take less than ten minutes. As soon as you hear the order, file back onto the ladders and you'll be lifted into the hovercraft. Let's be clean out there, soldiers."

Haymitch stood up behind Cyan to slide down one of two depository poles and behind him Caesar stepped on his heel, causing him to stumble into Cyan who nearly fell through the hole if Haymitch hadn't grabbed him at the last second.

"Watch where you're stepping," Haymitch hissed as he apologized to Cyan.

"I can't. These glasses make everything look five feet closer," said Caesar.

"You're getting laser surgery on your eyes tomorrow morning; try to stay alive until then."

Crewe motioned for the extract team to go and he slid down the pole on the left as Cyan took the one on the right. Haymitch followed a few seconds later and felt some of the exhaust heat from the hovercraft hit him before his feet touched ground and he ran single file behind Crewe to crates that had been left out for them by their District 12 informants. Haymitch and the others circled around the crates, all facing outward to keep their eyes on the woods as the hovercraft moved into position above them and lowered its claw. For a few minutes the hovercraft went about taking the crates with no incident, but then Haymitch heard the pilot's voice in his earpiece.

"Movement inbound from the northwest, ETA one minute."

"On foot?" asked Crewe.

"Aircraft."

"Hostile?"

There was a catch in the reception and Haymitch didn't hear the pilot's response. Crewe made a circling motion to round the team up. As they came in close to each other, Crewe divided them in half.

"Okay, half of you stick with me, the other get back on board. You've got thirty seconds, people, and then the hovercraft is taking off whether or not you're on it!"

Five of Thirteen's eight participating soldiers as well as the extraction team, Cyan, Glaze, and Jax were frozen in place on the ladder when Haymitch heard the pilot swear and then shout, "Capitol aircraft, engage!"

"Open fire!" Crewe hollered and Haymitch raised his weapon to the sky where he heard the aircraft approaching. As soon as its nose was visible, he fired and all around him his fellows followed suit. The enemy aircraft took heavy damage to its front and started to spiral downward, but as it did, Peacekeepers were dropping out of it and running to engage Haymitch's group in combat.

Farler and Flax exchanged their long range weapons for close quarters combat and met the Peacekeepers head on. Slone slid his shield off of his back and used it as a battering ram, knocking another Peacekeeper to the ground and then using the razor-sharp edge to decapitate him. Bastian had a Peacekeeper whose helmet had come off in his sights as he followed her with his rifle and shot her through the ear as she ran. Crewe and two other soldiers were protecting Luath and Caesar when suddenly Luath bolted out from behind them, dropping her weapons and running for the cover of the woods.

"Come back, soldier!" Crewe hollered, attempting to follow with Thirteen's soldiers, but Haymitch saw the Peacekeepers merge to block Luath from view and knew that he had been suspicious of the wrong people the entire time. Confused, Crewe tried to slow down to avoid the gunfire, but a bullet took him through the upper shoulder and he toppled backwards. The two soldiers behind him also went down as they were shot through the chest and neck. The Peacekeepers closed in on Crewe and were moments away from putting another fifty rounds in him when Caesar let loose on his weapon, spraying the enemy with every last bullet in his gun's chamber as he swept it from side to side.

Crewe held his injured arm to his chest and shouted over the intercom that the pilot needed to take off. As the hovercraft continued to rise into the air, he ordered everyone to change their frequency to the channel that would connect them back to Thirteen.

"Commander Septum, this is Crewe. The airlift was an ambush; a Capitol aircraft came at us and we were attacked by Peacekeepers. Half of our force got away on our hovercraft, but my team is going to need an airlift ourselves. We have two dead and at least one injured-"

"I'll send a replacement your way shortly," said Praxis, sounding calm and in control.

Haymitch spoke into his microphone. "Don't send anything, unless you've got something that can track a human through the forest. Luath broke from the team and the Peacekeepers shielded her; she was the informant for Snow. She'll be headed to District 12 now with all of our information and grab the train or some other transport back to the Capitol. Snow will wipe us out by this time tomorrow morning."

"Take your team and go after her. Cut her off at all costs," Praxis ordered and Haymitch could just imagine him storming about the control room as angry as Haymitch felt about completely missing Luath's intentions. "Alive or dead, I don't care, but make sure that she never gets the news to Snow. I'll send out a hovercraft to locate you and then try to close in on her before she gets to Twelve. And for God's sake, no one tell Stave."


	10. Chapter 10: Traitor Tracking

Crewe tested his shoulder after Farler had bandaged it as best he could and then the troupe continued on foot, following Luath's trail of broken branches and heavy, hasty, lost footprints. She had a fair head start on them since Crewe could not move until his shoulder had been set and he insisted on marking the clearing with a tracker so that a hovercraft from Thirteen could return to claim the bodies of the fallen soldiers at a later time. However, Luath had no idea where she was going with nothing to follow whereas Haymitch and the others only had to follow her trail.

To conserve power, Crewe switched off his microphone, but Praxis stayed online with them, sending them updates of the hovercraft's location every ten minutes or so until it was supposedly a few minutes out with reinforcements.

"Crewe, your replacement is aboard the craft. When he arrives, you'll be relieved—"

"Sir, I wish to continue until we find Luath," said Crewe as he switched his microphone back on and Haymitch saw his eyebrows pull together in pain as he followed behind Slone who was leading. "I can't rest easy knowing she's still out here and soldiers are lying dead back in that clearing."

"She won't get away, Crewe, but you're injured and you won't do anyone any good if you try to follow her in your condition. You and anyone else who doesn't wish to continue will be able to board the craft where you'll be taken care of while the rest continue to follow Luath and two more hovercrafts search from above. Ask your team now; who's for going on and who's for coming back to Thirteen."

Crewe looked from face to face of his team, but no one volunteered to stop, for they too felt that they owed the dead soldiers a debt in finding Luath. Haymitch was glad of Sloan, Farler, and Flax's company, but he doubted whether Bastian would be very useful in the wild and Caesar was just as lost, still bumping into trees and bushes with his magnified eyeglasses. On the pretense of asking Crewe to demand that Caesar return with him, Haymitch saw a shimmer in the air above and the hovercraft appeared. Not a moment later, Katniss and Gale Hawthorne had joined them on the ground and before they could so much as greet the team, Haymitch turned his own microphone back on to speak with Praxis.

"Why did you just send two teenagers as a replacement for trained soldiers?"

"Soldier Hawthorne _is_ trained," Praxis pointed out. "And Katniss has proved to be an excellent hunter. You'll need both of their tracking skills to catch Luath if she's managed to evade the hovercrafts so far."

"Sending the Mockingjay out to track a traitor is one of the stupidest things you could do with her—"

"You and Katniss are a team, Haymitch. Together, the two of you are the face of the rebellion, and yet you've been out there for hours. She is just as qualified as you, not to mention more obedient to commands. She and Soldier Hawthorne stay. If you have a problem, you can accompany Crewe back to Thirteen."

"Give it up," said Caesar when Haymitch made to retort. "I'm just an observer of her skills, but even I know that we need her for this."

"We do, but we don't need you," said Haymitch. "You're alerting everything within a ten mile radius that we're coming because you can't see where you're going. Go back with Crewe."

"That's not your call to make," said Caesar savagely.

Haymitch appealed to Crewe, but the soldier just shrugged with his good shoulder so that Haymitch kicked out at the dirt in frustration. "Oh, come on! You'd have to be stupid to let him stay out here! He can't see for shit, he has no experience in the wild, and he's likely to get himself killed when he falls on his own weapon—"

"He knows how to use that weapon," said Crewe. "He saved me with it."

"You're his mentor, Haymitch," said Flax pointedly. "He needs the training if he wants to get out of the Capitol after the coup, but if you'd rather Snow tortured him live on television, go ahead and send him back with Crewe."

"That's a bullshit argument and you know it," Haymitch shot back. "He can practice just as well in one of the simulators instead of out here."

"I want him here," said Katniss. "And I have my reasons," she added as Haymitch made to ask.

"You heard her, Haymitch," said Praxis over the comlink. "The two of you hold equal status, but since she's cooperative, I'm going with her request. Flickerman stays."

"Who's my replacement, commander?" asked Crewe as he prepared to mount the ladder.

"Soldier Mercer will take over from here," said Praxis as Bastian jumped the last few feet to the ground.

"Hold the fuck up here," said Flax before Haymitch had a chance to voice his outrage. "You're putting Bastian in charge? You're letting the Capitol's top blacksmith lead this mission to go and track down a Capitol informant? No offense—"

"If I wanted to eliminate all of you in Thirteen, I would have done so upon arrival, Flax," said Bastian testily. "Snow is a patient man, but even he's fed up with talk of rebellions and radicals. He knows that Haymitch has gone missing, but he never ordered the hit on him, so he assumes that Haymitch either took his own life, fled, or was taken captive by rebels. He's tired of waiting to find out what happened and he would gladly wipe out Thirteen if he knew who was here. But he doesn't because while you all were occupied glaring at me when you thought I wasn't looking, Luath crept up right under your noses and sold you all out. I didn't; I remained loyal. So yes, Praxis put me in charge because I'm qualified."

"We can stand here arguing about who's in charge and who's staying, or we can get to tracking Luath while we can," said Gale.

Crewe was lifted out on the hovercraft and the group was left in an eerie silence in its wake. Caesar turned to thank Katniss for her support, but due to the horrible magnification in his glasses, he spun right into Haymitch and if his weapon had been live, it would have shot Haymitch's toe off. Haymitch snatched the glasses off of Caesar's face, threw them down, and crushed them under his heel.

"If you get me killed, I'll come back and haunt you," Haymitch vowed. "And if you shoot me, I'll start cutting off your appendages one by one. You interviewed me, Soldier Flickerman, tell me; am I both serious and capable of doing that?"

"To the people who deserve it, yes," said Caesar swiftly.

_They didn't keep him as host for four decades for nothing_.

() / /

Gale and Katniss moved quickly, silently, and with more skill than Haymitch had ever seen on camera, but they had now been on the move for at least two hours and Haymitch felt that if Luath could be caught, she would have been by now. Katniss kept Caesar on her tail, ordering him to step exactly as she did and copy her every movement, which he did, though what purpose it served was anyone's guess. It did become evident that Caesar was a fast learner, however, when both Katniss and Gale leapt aside followed only milliseconds later by Caesar as a ground snare meant to impale the shins with razor sharp branches flew out at them. The trap was too short to reach Haymitch and the others, but it would have gotten all three of those in front if Katniss hadn't spotted it.

Pulling Caesar out of the bushes where he had landed, Katniss dusted him off and clapped his arm approvingly. "You're getting the hang of it," she praised.

"If Luath took the time to set up that trap, she knows we're onto her, but she also lost valuable time," said Gale. "We're catching up."

"I would hope so after two hours," said Farler, taking a swig from his water pouch and then turning it upside down to signify its emptiness.

"There sounds like there's a river ahead," said Katniss as she perked her head up and turned it sideways to listen. "We can fill up there."

They jogged for another five minutes or so and then they came upon an enormous drop off where, by flashlight, they could see a swift, powerful river was flowing by except for the narrow part where it looked shallow enough to cross. At the edge of the cliff, Haymitch looked straight down and thought—as always happens when confronted with an insurmountable fear—what would happen if he suddenly lost his balance. In the process of thinking how he might save himself, a vision flashed in front of him of a man holding Haymitch by the fingertips as his leg was slowly being swallowed alive by an enormous slug-like insect. He saw an enormous stinger slash the man across the face, saw the man's eyes fill with poisonous blue blood.

"Haymitch?" asked Caesar at Haymitch's side and Haymitch snapped out of his relapse to discover that he was now on all fours, his hands extended over the ledge as if to grab the man's hands and haul him up.

Blinking furiously, Haymitch looked up at Caesar and as the moon shone down on the two of them, Haymitch could see that Caesar understood. Caesar pulled him away from the ledge and secured a firm, locked grip around Haymitch's wrist. The others were too busy trying to find a way down, but Caesar knelt beside him and spoke in barely more than a whisper.

"Sickle's dead, Haymitch, and you're not the one who killed him."

"I saw him," Haymitch insisted.

"No, you didn't. There's no insects down there, no Sickle, no danger."

"You saw the tapes; you'd know. Was there anything I could have done to save him?"

"Haymitch?"

Katniss also took a knee beside him and the look on Haymitch's face must have told her everything she needed to know, for she put her forehead to his and gave a small sigh. No words needed to be exchanged, for of everyone in their group, Katniss was the only one who had held someone as they died, held a friend and watched the light fade from their eyes, awoken from vivid nightmares that made her relive the Games.

"There she is!" cried Farler.

The group put their flashlights together to form one giant spotlight on Luath who was trying to wade through the shallow part of the river.

"Shoot her down," Bastian ordered and Katniss stood up, taking aim with her bow. It was not a difficult shot by distance or skill, but Katniss didn't fire as Luath reached the halfway point and started to pick up speed.

"Soldier Everdeen, take her out."

"I can't," said Katniss, lowering her bow.

"Soldier Hawthorne—"

"If I kill her now, it's murder," said Gale, shouldering his crossbow.

"If she gets across the river, we'll lose her," said Flax.

"I'm not just going to shoot an unarmed woman in the back," said Katniss angrily. "If you want her dead, you do it."

"She may be unarmed, but she doesn't give a shit about the hundreds of people living in Thirteen," said Flax. "She'd just as soon see you, your family, and every last person in Thirteen blown into oblivion."

"I can't—"

"Move," said Bastian, taking aim with his rifle.

As if only just realizing what Bastian was doing, Caesar suddenly looked sick to his stomach as he tried to stop his fellow Capitol resident, but Bastian had already fired and the shot echoed over the valley as the bullet went through Luath's spine and out her heart. Her arms flew up instinctively as her back arched in pain, but she was dead before she hit the water and the river carried her body downstream.

"Praxis, this is Mercer," said Bastian into his microphone to the stunned silence of the group. "Target is eliminated. Come pick us up."


	11. Chapter 11: Decency

It was a subdued group that returned to Thirteen and though none of them had spoken of Luath's betrayal, the word had leaked so that rapturous applause greeted them as they deboarded the hovercraft. Though Bastian seemed to relish the popularity, Haymitch found it sickening and he and Caesar marched off towards his their pod. Right outside their quarters, they were stopped by Cyan who had a smug look about him,.

"So, I guess the traitor wasn't me."

"I'm not in the mood for this," said Haymitch irritably, trying to push his way around Cyan, but the latter wouldn't budge.

"Admit it; you've had it out for me since I came here just because my brother was acting as a double agent in the Games. You never even considered that I wanted revenge on the people who forced him into the Games instead of the man who made it out alive. What would I gain from having the Capitol stamp out the rebels, Haymitch? My brother will still be dead and the only people who knew him better than I would be made into examples."

"Oh, piss off, just because your brother was a slick old bastard, that doesn't mean I thought it ran in the family," said Haymitch. True, he did suspect Cyan, but that was only because he figured Cyan resented Haymitch for living while his brother was killed.

"You need to learn to be more trusting."

"Excuse me?" Haymitch snapped. "After what just happened out there, you're telling me that I need to be more trusting? Wake the hell up, you idiot; I played the Games twice and people turned on me everywhere. It's only because I trusted no one that I'm still alive. You don't have a damn clue what you're talking about because your brother's riches have kept you relatively comfortable for most of your life. You never had nightmares like he did and don't tell me he didn't. If you had gone into the Games, your cannon would have gone off first because you're a coward and a fool. Your brother had more courage than you'll ever have, and he's the one who deserves to be standing here. Now get out of my way."

Cyan's face hardened and he looked like he was struggling with whether or not to punch Haymitch, but instead he made a sharp turn and stomped off down the metal staircase.

Once inside, Haymitch kicked at his bunk angrily while Caesar sank onto his own bunk and rested his face in his hands.

"Thanks for your help out there," said Haymitch.

"That wasn't my fight to get involved in. I don't know Cyan."

"You could have said anything—"

"And made it worse."

Haymitch pulled his beanie down over his face and screamed into it, but when he emerged, Caesar was not looking at him with amusement or even fear for his sanity. What he saw on Caesar's face was pity.

"I know that the images of the Games never fully leave you, but have you really suffered from nightmares your entire life?"

This remark was so unexpected that Haymitch nodded before he remembered that he was supposed to be irrationally angry right now. "I drank to drown them out, but some always slipped through the alcohol. It was easier having a raging headache than to live with myself. Cobalt understood that, so did Woof and Chaff, which is why we were such good drinking buddies. As we watched our district tributes die every year, we drank deeper and it seemed to help—but then we had to go back in. I haven't had a drop of anything stronger than water since the morning of the last Games and I've suffered for it. I know you hear me moaning in my sleep."

"I do, but I think our mutual horrors block out each other's screams," said Caesar wryly. "I haven't endured what you've had to, but I was tortured and it's not an easy thing to forget."

"I wouldn't expect you to."

"But I don't need the nightmares to tell me that you're not—whole. You've put some weight and muscle back on since you came out of the arena and you've mended well with the help of Thirteen's doctors, but it's still in your eyes. Even when you're raging, your eyes are dead, which tells me that you left another part of yourself in the last arena, didn't you? Despite discovering that Katniss is alive and that you hadn't failed, you still never fully came back from the Games."

Haymitch climbed up into his bunk and flopped down without bothering to undress. "You should get some sleep," he told Caesar without looking at him, "you have an eye appointment in the morning."

/ / /

The following morning, Haymitch attended breakfast while Meela escorted Caesar to the eye doctor for his procedure to fix his corneas. Hoping for some quiet as he let the steam from his porridge drift up into his nostrils, Haymitch chose a seat against the wall, but was joined by the Benders and Katniss, the latter of whom was filling the Benders in on Luath's treachery. Haymitch stuck his spoon into his porridge and it stayed upright, which was not an encouraging sign for something that should have been soft.

"Of everyone here, I would have expected Luath and Stave least," said Jax in surprise, chewing his own porridge with much crunching so that Haymitch pushed his bowl aside.

"She didn't care about Stave in the end, though, did she?" Kao countered. "And they grew up together. He lived with her when his parents wouldn't take him back after the Games and they've been inseparable, but where's Stave now? Probably tied down to a bed in a padded holding cell because he's just found out that his best friend is a spy for the Capitol."

"_Did_ Stave find out?" asked Katniss and Kao leaned in closer across the table to respond.

"Right after you got back this morning, he saw that she wasn't with you and the word had already spread that a few people went down out there. I don't know if Praxis told him the truth or not, but as far as I know, Stave thinks Luath was killed in combat, not that that's any more comforting. He went into one of his fits like when the refugees first arrived and he almost shot another guard, so Praxis had him contained and put in solitary confinement. Niles told me that he's had to be sedated a few times to prevent him from hurting himself."

"Haymitch, what's wrong?" asked Silica.

"Nothing," Haymitch lied. "I'd better go now, I gotta check in on Caesar."

"I'll come with you," Katniss offered, but Haymitch waved her off.

"Naw, you stay here and finish up your—whatever that is," he said, motioning at her porridge which had solidified.

The conversation had given him much to think about as he climbed staircase after staircase to the medical floor. It would be too soon the day Stave found out that his best friend, the woman he loved, would have sold him out to the Capitol, so perhaps sedation was the best thing for him now, but Haymitch couldn't help but think back to the second time he had come out of the arena. The Peacekeepers had had to sedate him by force after Haymitch discovered that he was once again the victor with the death of Denno. Friends and acquaintances of his had been slaughtered in the Quarter Quell, but Katniss's death had unhinged him and sent him over the edge. The same thing was now happening to Stave. If anyone knew Stave's grief, it was Haymitch, and so he knew he would have to go and console Stave at some point.

The eye doctor had an office deep inside the medical ward and Haymitch got lost twice before being redirected by a passing nurse. Outside the door, he gave a knock before it slid open, but once it did, he was surprised to find the place empty. Perhaps the procedure had already been done and Caesar had already been sent to breakfast…but where then, was the doctor and his nurse?

Noticing a door slightly ajar at the back of the room, Haymitch went to it and heard muffled shouts from within. Cracking the door open a smidgen, he saw two men dressed in hospital garb struggling to keep hold of someone. When one of the men shifted his arm, Haymitch could clearly make out the prisoner's face.

The men had Caesar pinned to an table, naked from the waist down and one of them was fumbling at the belt of his jumpsuit. Haymitch shouted, an action he immediately regretted as one of the two men pulled a knife and rushed him. He still had his hand on the door handle and stepped back, slamming the full force of it into the man who hit the door with a sickening crunch. Haymitch tackled him, forcing the knife away and punching the man in his ribs, chest, and throat, anything to make him submit. With one final well-aimed blow, the man was knocked unconscious and Haymitch used the man's shoelaces to bind his wrists behind him.

But Caesar did not have such restraint. He had throttled his would-be rapist and was now sitting with his knees curled to his chest, eyeing the body at his feet as if expecting it to get up and try to attack him again.

Haymitch scooped up Caesar's undergarments and his jumpsuit which had been torn off and slid them across the floor to Caesar since he wasn't entirely sure that Caesar wouldn't attack him if he came closer. Caesar dressed himself and then sat back down, head in his hands as he rocked back and forth.

"Caesar," said Haymitch cautiously, "what happened?"

"Meela got called away for something," said Caesar's muffled voice from between his fingers. "Then these two came in, knocked out the doctor and nurse, stuffed them in a closet, and dragged me back here."

"Well, what do you want to do, then?"

Caesar looked quickly at him, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that either we can report this for what it is, or we can falsify the details. The doctor and nurse can testify that they were attacked and I'll take the fall for the dead man since I don't think Praxis will be too keen on letting a Capitol citizen get off lightly for murder. Whatever you want to do, we'll do it, but I need to have a heads up so that our story is the same."

"Why not tell the truth? I've suffered through humiliation before—"

"Caesar, we don't have to tell anyone—"

"If it means putting this rapist in a cell for the rest of his life, I'll do it."

Haymitch could practically see the pressure building within Caesar as his face turned a deep scarlet color and his hands began to bawl into fists.

"Caesar…"

A tear ran down Caesar's face, quick to come and go, but the trail it left was the gateway for all the rest to go ahead and spill out. Haymitch didn't know what to do. He and Caesar were not what anyone could call friends, but he wouldn't have wished this humiliating experience on anyone—except perhaps Snow. How was Haymitch to comfort Caesar when Haymitch had no idea what he could say that wouldn't make Caesar shove him away or tell him to shut up and leave him alone. Comforting Katniss worked by way of pulling her into a tight embrace and holding her until her shaking fits subsided and the list of people Haymitch had had to mother ended there. He had the feeling that Caesar would hate him even more if Haymitch tried to hug him just now.

So he stood there and did nothing while Caesar had his cry out. When the last of Caesar's tears had fallen, he stood up and folded his arms across his abdomen before turning to see Haymitch still there.

"I know my way back," he said.

"You can't be left alone anymore. If I have to alter my schedule every day to match yours, I'll do it, but I'm not letting anyone get that close to—to doing something to you again. We need you whole and focused for the upcoming Games."

"If 'we' includes people like the ones who just tried to rape me, I'm not so sure that I want them leading the rebellion," said Caesar darkly. "If you and the other rebels want to prove that you're better than the Capitol, you have to treat hostages and prisoners with respect, give them a fair trial, and then deal with them accordingly, not beat them and sodomize them when you think no one's looking."

"Who are you talking to, Caesar?" Haymitch demanded. "Do you think that _I_ would do something like this to a prisoner—to anyone? Oh, I will fucking kill the people who deserve it, but only if my life depends on it, not because I can or want to. If Snow was in this room right now, I would fantasize about all the painful ways in which I could kill him, but I wouldn't do it because he's an old man and he'd be unarmed. I'm better than these men," Haymitch gestured at the corpse and unconscious man. "I'm better so how fucking dare you accuse me of treating prisoners unfairly when I was the one who put my ass on the line for you?"

"But your great commander tolerated the treatment I was given," said Caesar in matching hostility. "And he's the one who will take over as president if Snow falls, not you. Praxis Septum will be the one to condemn Capitol citizens to death, not you, so what difference does it make that you aren't like him?"

"Because Praxis won't win with rebellion without me and my demands state that when we win, the dictatorship system will be demolished."

"One man making demands under threat of no cooperation—that doesn't sound like a dictatorship to you?" Caesar challenged.

Haymitch stepped in close to Caesar so that they were less than half a foot apart and Haymitch could feel blood pounding in his ears at Caesar's accusations. He had spent the last handful of months ensuring Caesar's safety, worrying about how he was coping and wondering if Praxis had permanently scarred him and then Caesar had the gall to say such things to him?

"If you think that our work is so useless, go back home and wait for the hammer to fall, Caesar. You won't receive any mercy from our soldiers this time when they come for you. You'll be tried as a traitor and executed."

"Back home?" Caesar repeated. "The Capitol isn't home, Haymitch. Home is where you belong and where you're safe and for us, that's nowhere. But since you're trying your damndest to make this place home, why don't you let Praxis and the entire district know that two men just tried to rape me?"

Haymitch snapped out his fist and punched Caesar in the jaw. He couldn't stand one more _holier than thou_ comment from Caesar, nor could he stand to look at the man's face anymore when he didn't trust himself to keep himself in check if Caesar said anything else. He went out into the front office and place a call to security.

"One civilian dead, one detained after assault on another two civilians in the medical ward, eye doctor division," he said tonelessly, and then hung up to see Caesar looking rather sheepish that Haymitch had said nothing of rape. "That's something a shitty human being would do, isn't it?"


	12. Chapter 12: Value of Human Life

Following his and Caesar's argument, Haymitch went directly to Praxis and asked that Caesar be transferred to another pod, but since Praxis did not want to spare a soldier to watch Caesar all hours of the day and night, he denied Haymitch's request. The first night after their fight was extremely tense with both Haymitch and Caesar refusing to sleep, glaring at one another from their bunks until they both passed out from exhaustion sitting upright, only to have extremely painful cricks in their necks the following morning. When Caesar reported to training, Flax and Farler met with him, but Haymitch couldn't bring himself to spend any more energy attending to Caesar's needs, so he climbed back up the ten or so flights of stairs to Katniss's pod and was lucky to find her door ajar.

Her bathroom door was shut, so he climbed into the bunk opposite her bed, pulled the covers up over his head, and fell asleep almost instantly. It seemed like seconds later he was awoken by a sharp slap of a wet towel to the back of his head. He threw off his covers, rounding on who he knew to be Katniss, but she was standing there with her hands on her hips and her braided hair still soaking.

"What are you doing in here?"

"Trying to sleep."

"You're supposed to be training Caesar or maybe talking to Stave like you promised Niles?"

"I'm not feeling it today," said Haymitch, trying to burrow back down into the covers.

"Did you two have a fight?"

"I just got fed up with him. It was only a matter of time; he's too set in his ways to change his mind about anything and he still blames me for his situation, so he's doing his thing and I'm trying to sleep, so leave me alone."

"Fine, don't tell me the real reason, but don't use me as a shield. If you want to hide from your responsibilities, go do it in someone else's pod. I can't mother you."

Haymitch leapt out of bed so quickly that Katniss stepped back in alarm.

"_Hiding from my responsibilities?_" he thundered. "Where do you get off talking to me like that when you spent the first month after the Quarter Quell sobbing in this very pod because you missed Peeta? You—_missed_—him. He's alive and safe and you were feeling sorry for yourself because you had to lead a rebellion and he wasn't there to hold your hand and you got stuck with me as a fellow rebel. I may have been fighting Praxis every step of the way because the man is nearly as sadistic as Snow, but I've been trying since the day I got here to recuperate. I didn't even shirk my responsibilities as the victor of the Quarter Quell because I respected your memory and everything you stood for, so I knew I couldn't hide like I had after my first Games. I was fighting back from the moment they lifted me out of the arena; you saw the footage. You saw how I was reduced to nothing and yet I was still trying because I had committed myself to you and Peeta. I gave everything for the two of you! I was willing to lay down my life so that Peeta could stay out of the Games and so you could win!"

Every ounce of frustration he felt since coming to Thirteen was spilling out now because only Katniss could understand what he had gone through in that arena. She was the only one still alive who had been there with him, who had been in two Games and seen so many people die She was the only one here who he would not hesitate to sacrifice himself for again if he was asked to—and she resented him because he couldn't commit to training Caesar Flickerman to shoot a gun properly anymore.

"When did you ever put yourself on the front line for me? We both grew up in the Seam, we both knew what it meant to be hungry, to have to provide for the people we loved or risk seeing them starve to death. We both were equals in everything and we became the face of Panem's last hope for freedom, yet you stand there telling me I need to become a fucking man because I've given up on trying to convert someone who was a lost cause from the beginning? That's low, even for you."

"You can't give up on him," said Katniss, though with a catch in her throat from being yelled at by her mentor. "He's not a bad person; most people in the Capitol aren't. They've been brainwashed into believing that the Games are just games and that what Snow's doing is right. They have families and they love, just like we do. Caesar doesn't have anyone, but he's still here. He wasn't the one who signaled for the Peacekeepers to ambush us or who ran off into the woods to try and alert Snow. Caesar's with us, but he needs your help because he trusts you more than anyone, even me. In those brief moments with him, he found out who I was, just from an interview, but he doesn't trust me to defend him like you did. You were the only one when he was being tortured because you value human life. And if you give up on him, you're giving up on the hope that human life is still worth saving."

For the first time since shaving off all of his hair, Haymitch wished he still had some left so that he could pull it out in anger as he paced back and forth, covering his eyes with his beanie. Suppose he did go through with helping Caesar become an expert soldier? What did he hope to gain from that? Praxis had said it himself that Caesar was only needed to divert attention and throw Snow a curveball with his commentary while Jax rallied the other tributes and the rebels stormed the Capitol. What Caesar did when the Gamemakers discovered that he was a traitor was on Caesar's own shoulders, so by training him, Haymitch was giving Caesar everything he needed to try and survive the coup. But why would he go to such lengths to ensure Caesar's survival if the latter loathed him?

Telling Stave of Luath's betrayal, however, was much easier to face.

"Let's start with Stave," Haymitch suggested.

/ /

"He's unstable," Niles warned a half hour later as Haymitch stood outside Stave's holding cell. From the other side of the two-way mirror, Haymitch could see Stave wearing a white coat that made his arms cross over his chest and tuck under his armpits while the rest of his body was strapped down to a bed. His head was lolling to the side under the influence of sedatives, but his genetically enhanced eyebrows still made him look suspiciously alert.

"It's okay. I can handle him, but I'm not going to talk to him while he's trussed up like that."

"It's a precaution," said Niles. "Even I have to do it with my son sometimes."

"But your son isn't about to receive the news that Stave is."

"You can't tell him the truth. You know how he reacted just from finding out that Luath was dead, how do you think he'll deal with her betrayal? He can't handle it—"

"He's had people lie to him his entire life because they thought he couldn't handle it, and look where that's gotten him. The truth is what he needs and what he deserves, and unless you want your son turning out just like him, you'll agree with me."

"I don't have permission to undo his restraints—"

"Then don't. I will and Praxis will bitch about me being insubordinate, but he won't do anything about it. Now, let me in."

Haymitch could tell it was against his better judgment, but the dig at Niles's son becoming what Stave was now had stirred up a need to right what had been wronged within the soldier, so he let Haymitch pass. Inside, Stave glanced up to see who his visitor was, but looked back down at the floor without acknowledging Haymitch who began to undo the straps holding Stave in place. Last to come off was the restraining jacket, but when Haymitch had finished, Stave said nothing and remained sitting.

"Praxis thinks that it would be better for everyone involved if you're kept in the dark about what really went on during the airlift," Haymitch began, "but you didn't make the journey out here just to sit in a cell and mull over what you think happened, so I'm going to tell you the truth, if you want to hear it."

"I know she's gone and I know why," said Stave, still not looking at Haymitch. "I heard her in her sleep on our way here. She said, "Snow will know' about twenty times over the course of the two weeks it took us to get here and I thought nothing of it at the time, but when she didn't come back, I figured it out."

"I'm sure that she was promised your immunity if she agreed to help Snow," said Haymitch, surprised that he was defending the traitor.

"Perhaps. She was family to me, but even that can only go so far in the world for what it is. If she had told me, I would have turned her in, so she didn't. She had asked me right before the airlift ambush if I thought rebellion would be the death of Panem and I told her that I had never believed in something as purely as I did in the rebellion. That's probably why she made her move then; she knew that I would never side with her. I was able to process her betrayal, but my body doesn't always sync with my mind. If I hurt anyone while I was having a fit, I apologize."

"You tried, but I think the soldier's okay—"

The cell door opened and Praxis stood, looking disappointed as if he actually expected something other than insubordination from Haymitch who only shrugged.

"Why is it _always_ you, Haymitch?"

"Well, besides unstrapping him, I haven't actually done anything against orders yet," Haymitch pointed out. "Stave figured it out for himself and he's been in control since I stepped through the door. He's more observant and intelligent than anyone gives him credit for, and I think that could come in handy for the coup. Put him in Command with me. I'll keep an eye on him while I'm online with Caesar."

"That's out of the question. I won't have an unstable man in a position of power—"

"Because everyone else in Command has never let their emotions get the better of them," Haymitch countered. "Stave is in control and if anything happens because of him losing that control, I'll take full responsibility, but I want him there with me. I'm not giving up on him."

Praxis posed the question to Stave. "What do you say to this?"

"I'll say whatever I need to if it means I won't have to endure another second in that jacket," said Stave.

/ /

Conversing with Stave had been surprisingly easy. It was now going to Caesar that proved to be the difficult part. His new trainers were actually all of the lead refugees and Niles, Crewe, and Meela, showing him tactics, explaining maneuvers, and drilling him in turn, only none of it seemed to be sticking, especially when Glaze managed to disarm him inside of two seconds and then proceeded to sit on his stomach as Caesar lay struggling underneath.

"Okay, playtime is over," called Haymitch. "Either you all are deliberately trying to make him look like the worst soldier ever, or he's actually that bad."

"He's not _that_ bad," said Silica, but Kao made a loud snort and his sister slapped his arm in annoyance.

"He's terrible, Haymitch," said Crewe. "He can kill; I know he can and I've seen it, but he just can't memorize things that'll keep him alive. He's cannon fodder."

"He's got it in him to be ruthless, but his execution is abysmal," said Glaze, finally standing up to allow Caesar a breather.

"He doesn't need to go through rigorous training as if he was on the front lines trying to take the high ground when the Capitol's under siege," said Haymitch. "He just needs to know how to arm himself and then run for cover until he finds the rebels in case our people can't pull him from the studio once Praxis gives the signal."

"We've been trying that, but he's failed hard every single time," said Flax. "Maybe he's distracted or maybe Capitol people have a common gene that makes them out to be awful soldiers."

"He responds well to constructive criticism, not the bullying you lot have been doing," Meela pointed out. "I ran through a few simulations with him and he passed with flying colors."

"You also weren't that tough on him," said Axle.

"Caesar," said Haymitch, coming closer, "I don't expect you to like me and I don't care if you do or not. I don't care if you respect me or not, but I do want you to truly, completely commit to this training. We'll do everything we can to make sure that you have to do as little fighting as possible when we take the Capitol, but we need to see results, or our plan won't stand a chance. I'll coach you through the night if I have to, but only if you can prove that you're trying."

_In other words, I won't give up on you as long as you're still committed to our cause._

Caesar stood up, slung his weapon over his shoulder, and repositioned himself on the simulation field. "Ready when you are, Soldier Abernathy."


	13. Chapter 13: The Final Layout

Praxis had a strictly no-bullshitting look on his face as he addressed the lot of them, resting both of his hands on the table now that his arm was fully healed. The look was not threatening and certainly not desperate as if he was pleading with them to do their jobs well, but from the day the refugees came to Thirteen eight months ago, he had been hoping for this moment in which he could say that he thought they were finally ready to perform the tasks he had assigned them to. It wasn't like they had a lot of options otherwise. Reaping Day was only two days away and they all had to be in position for when the cameras rolled, then they had a week to get the siege under way so that when the gong sounded for the tributes of the 76th Hunger Games to commence battling, the rescue hovercrafts were already on their way in.

So it came as a bit of a surprise when they all detected something like pride in Praxis's voice as he addressed them in a rather vividly personal way.

"I've seen all of you vomit, bleed, sweat, and sob over the mats in the training rooms. I've seen you grit your teeth and restart the damn simulations hundreds of times just to make it through once perfectly. Each and every one of you has put forth the effort to be flawless in your field and your job so that our forces will suffer the lowest amount of casualties possible. For that, I am honored to put my trust in you as I send you out of the safety of Thirteen. You know as well as I that there is a very high likelihood of some of you dying in the line of duty, but your sacrifice will not be ignored. When we raise our flags over the Capitol, we will salute you and give you a resting place of honor. That said, I would advise you all to write any final wishes to be delivered and carried out upon your death, if such a thing occurs. This may well be the last time we are together as a group making decisions for our people."

Though pleased they were to hear such praise from their commander, his last statement made them all exchange worrisome looks. True, they knew the dangers of what they were about to do, but their inner ignorance hoped, prayed that they would not be the one to fall in battle. Haymitch hadn't prepared any letters for loved ones; he had none (at least none that he cared to admit). Peeta, Effie, Portia…they all believed him already dead. Among his fellow rebels here in Thirteen, he had Katniss who would be with him every step of the way in battle and then the people whom he worked well in a team with: Slone, Farler, Flax, Niles, Crewe, Meela…Then there was Caesar, but if Haymitch died during the siege, it was very unlikely that Caesar would make it. No, Haymitch had no words to preserve for anyone, nor indeed anyone to preserve the words for.

"I know we've gone over the plans countless times, but to ensure that we're all on the same page and answer any last-minute questions, let's run through it again. You have your assigned teams, all of whom will reform into separate teams once the designated victors accompany their tributes to the Capitol. Some of our undercover Gamemakers have already been in the Capitol for weeks to establish themselves as trustworthy citizens while others are making their way towards the Capitol on foot to block off escape routes, disable connections, and the like. Beetee will be running all communications in and out of Thirteen, patching you into your teams. The day that the scores are given to the tributes, the last of Thirteen's forces will be ready to move in, but we won't be making any move until the gong has sounded to begin the Games. This is imperative; the entire nation's attention must be on the Games so that when the blackout occurs and Beetee replaces it with the images of Katniss and Haymitch, all the districts will be watching. We have sent small bands of our troops to each district, ready to lend assistance once the people make a move to overthrow their Peacekeepers."

Praxis brought up a blueprint of an arena and turned his attention to Jax. "Our sources say that the arena is going to be based in an underwater city of sorts, so an airlift will prove to be difficult. You'll start out on pedestals much like the Quarter Quell, and then dive for the underwater city which has a two-way force field that allows you to both exit and enter. The Cornucopia is situated at the city center. Once the power goes out and the arena's main force field shuts down, you will lead the tributes to the elevator shafts that will take you to the surface. We've been informed that these shafts only work one way so that the tributes have to dive back into the water and swim down to enter the city again, so it's crucial that you have everyone together at the same time. Your siblings will be feeding you information through your earpiece that your pre-selected stylist has designed so that no one could detect you wearing it. They'll pass the word on to you when the plan is in motion"

"I know you said you were working on that, so what's the signal gonna be?" asked Kao. "It's gotta be something we can all see or hear, so unless Flicks over there is gonna be throwing gushy winks at the camera, we need a go-word."

"All units will commence when the signal is given via call sign _ignite_. I will give the word to Haymitch once we are in position and then Haymitch will feed Caesar the go-ahead. As soon as Caesar speaks, our inside teams along with Beetee will shut down the power to allow full communication with Jax and the other tributes inside the arena. We must be in position before the gong rings to avoid as much bloodshed as possible, but we can only do so much on our end. The rest will be up to Jax and the pre-selected tributes to unite all the children before they step foot in the arena. Make an alliance with as many as you can so that if we are not yet ready when the gong sounds, you need only subdue those who haven't yet been enlightened. The rest of us will be prepared to do whatever is necessary to rescue you all."

"And while you're out there on the front lines, who's going to be in command of Thirteen?" asked Katniss. It had occurred to her, as it had Haymitch, that if they failed in their efforts, Thirteen would likely be wiped out a second time, especially if there was no one to lead the remaining people who couldn't fight like the old, the injured, and the ill.

"My daughter will take over in my stead," said Praxis. "In the rare event of our complete failure, she will escort the remaining civilians to safety deep into the mountains, which have long been our escape route, if we needed one."

There were a few questionable murmurs and signs of disapproval in which Bastian shook his head and Cyan rolled his eyes while others like Caesar looked concerned, but Jax shushed them with his declaration of complete trust in Alaida. "She's more qualified than anyone. She's been raised and taught to know everything Praxis does, so her age shouldn't matter. Look at Katniss; she was only sixteen when she started the spark of the rebellion."

Alaida beamed at Jax.

Praxis pointed to the projected map of the Capitol, highlighting various sections to signify where teams and units would be unleashing hell upon the Peacekeepers. The plan was to move inward, seize important buildings, and ultimately make it to Snow's mansion before the children could really start the bloodshed in the Games so that the show would be halted.

"And this will be your escape route, if you find yourself alone, Soldier Flickerman," said Praxis after a time, running his finger down a lit-up path so that Caesar could see how far he had to run to get to a rebel base. "If no one comes for you after the cameras go dark, get out of there. Do you recognize your path?"

"I do, but since the studio and Gamemaker site are near the center of the Capitol, it'll be hard to break through those lines going outward towards the rebels and any Peacekeepers will find it odd that I'm running away from safety."

"You passed your conceal and evade tests, didn't you, soldier?"

"He did with flying colors," said Flax admirably.

"Then you know how to hide until help arrives."

"That's very comforting."

"And lastly," said Praxis, ignoring Caesar's remark, "I must address the issue of hostages. Though we are in the business of treating civilians and Peacekeepers as prisoners if they willingly surrender, we can't expect the same mercy from them. They will torture and extract vital information from their prisoners, and since we all know that surrender is not an option for us, we have designed cuffs for all soldiers. These cuffs contain an extremely small needle that will inject you with a fast-acting poison so that from the time the needle touches your skin to when it extracts, you will have less than thirty seconds to live. The cuffs are designed so that even if you cannot use your hands to fend off your attackers, you can still activate the needle. Each one will respond to only you so that you can't accidentally activate someone else's. The cuffs will activate when they hear _your_ voice, or else if you make the salute made famous in District 12."

Haymitch and Katniss raised their eyebrows at each other. So, the three-fingered salute would be the last rebellious act given if a rebel found themselves in enemy hands. How fitting.

"What do we have to say to activate the cuffs vocally?" asked Flax.

"Simply say your name, and then add, "Has fed the fire."

Caesar made a sound in the back of his throat which might have been a snort that he tried and failed to turn into a cough. He only failed because here in Thirteen, Praxis knew when Caesar was being sarcastic, whereas the Capitol audience were not exposed to the real Caesar.

"Something amusing, Soldier Flickerman?" asked Praxis with the air of a man praying for patience.

"In addition to this half-assed plan, you've found the time to come up with a poetic phrase for your rebels to go out on. How very thoughtful."

"If you don't like it, you don't have to use it."

"If I want to kill myself, I could just blow my brains out—or accept the impending torture because this time, I will have at least earned it."

"That's all, ladies and gentlemen," said Alaida. "Good luck to you all, protect one another, remember the cause, and—"

By now it had become something of a joke when mocking the Capitol, but the words actually did hold meaning for those about to enter a battlezone, so when they all joined in unison to finish the statement, they felt united more than they had at any point during their eight months of training.

"May the odds be ever in your favor."

/ /

Haymitch watched the hovercraft with Slone, Axle, Gerrod, and their team leader Waylon take off, knowing that only two of them would be coming back before the siege. Being previous victors, both Slone and Axle had to accompany their tributes back to the Capitol, but as was the case with the other teams who had two victors from separate districts, Praxis had managed to get special permission from his Capitol-insiders so that it was allowed for someone like Slone from Six to be in District 9 on Reaping Day.

The hovercraft bound for the Capitol was preparing for launch and Meela's replacement, a man named Bryx, was calling the Capitol Team to board. Meela was unable to be Caesar's escort on account of being eight months pregnant. She wouldn't acknowledge the father, but the whole of Thirteen knew it to be Crewe since the two were close friends since childhood and had grown into adulthood as fellow rebels. She was, however, bidding Caesar farewell with a carefully placed embrace so as not to squish her bulging belly.

Caesar, dressed in Capitol clothing, spotted Haymitch, and took him aside, holding out his finger to Bryx who was clicking his tongue impatiently for Caesar to get on board.

"Do me a favor, will you? It's personal," said Caesar, looking far more nervous than Haymitch had ever seen him, even when Haymitch called the entire Capitol out on their cowardice on live television during Caesar's interview.

"I'm not going to—"

"Make sure Meela doesn't get sent out of Thirteen."

Of all the things Haymitch expected Caesar to ask him, this was not one of them. Given that Meela was due to deliver soon, the chances of her being able to leave Thirteen even after the child's birth were extremely slim and she had enough common sense to not want to follow her lover into battle. Not to mention that Crewe would have told her to stay behind.

"Should I ask why?"

"You've seen that Meela's with child."

Haymitch gave a fake gasp of shock. "You don't _say_?"

Caesar scowled at him. "There is a time for joking around and now is not it—besides, that humor is in bad taste. Can you be serious, please?"

"Okay, I'm serious when I say that everyone in Thirteen knows that Meela's got a kid on the way. She won't have clearance to leave until she's at least a month post-pregnancy and Praxis wouldn't let her go anywhere anyway in her condition, so why're you so worried about whether or not she leaves?"

"Just promise me that you'll keep an eye on her."

"Shouldn't Crewe be asking me to do that and not you? It's his baby."

Caesar stared at Haymitch for a long, meaningful seventeen seconds and then Haymitch's stomach dropped.

"You didn't."

"I did, and if Praxis or Snow finds out, we're both in some serious shit, so keep her inside."

"Christ, Caesar, what the hell were you thinking?"

"It was the day those men tried to rape me, if you can remember the events that occurred," said Caesar with a sour and sarcastic note. "My manhood had just been tested and nearly stripped from me and I needed to remedy the feelings I was having. Meela and I had been taking our meals together and I went to her pod and one thing led to another, resulting in her swollen belly. I wouldn't expect you to understand because you practically ooze testosterone and no one has ever questioned your ability to act as manly as possible, but you weren't the one who was assaulted."

Haymitch could think of nothing to say. He knew how shaken up and scarred Caesar was after his near-rape, but he had always thought of Caesar to be favorable towards men, perhaps due to the persona of his on-stage game show host caricature. And yet the real Caesar Flickerman had gone and impregnated a female soldier who Haymitch had assumed was merely that—a female guard to Caesar.

In Haymitch's silence, Caesar explained further, "When she found out, she asked Crewe to cover for us since the two of them are such good friends. She figured no one would suspect anything because everyone assumed that the two of them would get married eventually. But Meela still thinks I'll get myself blown up before I can return, so if by some chance she delivers early and I don't make it back—"

"And you're walking," said Haymitch to cut Caesar off, pushing him towards the hovercraft with his team of Bastian, Glaze, Flax, and their replacement team leader Bryx. Once at the Capitol, Bastian would stay with Caesar until he had to prepare for the cameras while Bryx brought Flax back to Thirteen for the mass move out to the Capitol's outskirts to await the call sign. Glaze would have to return to District One as a mentor for the tributes and help Jax spread the word about a nation-wide alliance. The other teams would be ensuring that their pre-selected tributes were called and then they would disband accordingly.

Only when the hovercraft's boarding ramp closed up into the thing and Haymitch saw Caesar settling into his seat did he realize why Caesar had erupted into that maniacal laughter of his when Praxis told them all the grand plan. Now that they were only a week and a half away from the coup that could determine their futures, Haymitch realized just how rough, risky, and altogether bad of a plan this whole thing was. Caesar had seen it from the beginning, though, and he still went along with it, so either he was delusional, or he believed in a free Panem enough to want to sacrifice his life for it. Neither option was exactly reassuring to Haymitch.


	14. Chapter 14: Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games

"We are go," said Beetee as he opened up the path for Thirteen to get reception and communications from the other districts. In Command, Praxis, Alaida, Haymitch, Katniss, Stave, and others were seated, watching from the cameras on their hidden rebels of the reapings. Though teams had been sent out to the districts with pre-selected tributes, one or two rebels still stood in the crowds of the other districts so that Thirteen would get a glimpse of the victors before the live broadcast that evening.

The escorts were sporting sea-green, turquoise, and aquamarine colors as reflection of the upcoming underwater Games, though no one knew yet that that would be the arena. Haymitch supposed that this was how Capitol fashions started; someone working for the Games leaked a small bit of information pertaining to the Games and the rumors grew until the entire Capitol was sporting the look.

The tributes for District 1 were originally a fourteen and twelve year old girl and boy, but other children spoke up to volunteer and after going through a complicated system of narrowing down the volunteers, One was left with two eighteen year old tributes, both of them lean and springy-looking so that Haymitch guessed they would be quick and quiet, just as deadly as bulky and brutal.

In District 2, an older boy was called in place of Jax, but after the same elaborate elimination system, Jax emerged victorious as the male volunteer tribute alongside a sixteen-year-old girl with platinum-white hair. Kao and Silica cheered their brother on as Jax raised both fists into the air, playing his part well in looking arrogantly pleased at the reaping's outcome.

Beside Haymitch, Praxis gave a sigh of relief and scratched off something on a pad of paper in front of him while adding a note to another sheet. Leaning sideways, Haymitch saw that Praxis had one list labeled "Tributes" and another "Setbacks".

"You made a list of setbacks?" said Haymitch quietly.

Shifting his arm to hide the papers, Praxis shot him a look that told him to shut up, but Haymitch couldn't help but think of how a commander of an entire rebellion had narrowed down his earthly worries to a series of lists. If something went wrong on the battlefield, was Praxis going to jot it down in his notebook? Was he making observations about the tributes to feed to Jax? Why the hell did such an imposing, seemingly well-informed man needs _lists_?

"It's just to organize his thoughts," said Alaida in her father's defense as the tributes for District 3 and 4 were chosen.

District 5 saw a girl of about fifteen being chosen and Praxis pointed out that she was indeed pre-selected. Over the communi-cuff, he told Crewe to bring the others home as soon as darkness set in. The next few districts all had tributes of varying ages, the youngest coming from Seven. In Nine, both Axle and Slone were present to board the train after the pre-selected boy and his district partner were chosen. Ten and Eleven's districts blended together in Haymitch's mind as had most of the boys and girls from the past quarter century. He remembered the victors (how could he not) and occasionally the runner-up, but so many children could no longer stand as distinct figures in his mind. With a pang of guilt, Haymitch wondered what it had been like for poor old Mags to see over fifty years' worth of children walk to their deaths.

Katniss nudged Haymitch out of his thoughts as Effie Trinket took the stage, sporting a teal wig with faux fish scales sewn onto her sleeves to give her an appearance of swimming through the air whenever she moved her arms. Beside her stood Peeta, his face grim as he took on the responsibility that had for so long, been Haymitch's alone. Katniss squeezed Haymitch's hand tightly, staring at the static-infused projection of Peeta from their informant's hidden camera.

"The female tribute for District 12—Primrose Everdeen."

Haymitch could no longer feel Katniss holding his hand either because she had cut off his circulation, or because he was already numb with shock.

_What the actual fuck._

This had to be Snow's doing. The crowd of District 12 looked horror-struck that both Katniss and Primrose Everdeen had been chosen twice for the past three years. How, _how_ could that possibly be, and what purpose did it serve? The Capitol thought Katniss was dead, so why would Snow insist on having Prim's name be called?

It was not the trembling girl that had had to be pulled away from Katniss two years prior that Haymitch saw now, but a girl who had already had to fill her sister's shoes. Katniss had demanded that Praxis pull Gale from District 12 once she agreed to be part of the rebellion because if Gale thought her to be dead, he would have gotten himself and others killed in an act of loving vengeance, but Prim and Katniss's mother had remained because Katniss believed them to be safe in Twelve.

"Put me on with Jax," Katniss demanded. "I need to talk with him now."

"We'll provide Jax with additional instructions to protect your sister once he reaches the Capitol," said Praxis levelly.

"I need to talk to him _now_."

"You are emotionally compromised right now, Soldier Everdeen. I won't allow your raging sisterly instincts to jeopardize the entire rebellion when you already know that Jax will see it as his duty to protect your sister," said Praxis. "Now, do you think you can keep it together, or shall I have you escorted from the room?"

"The boy's smart," said Stave, staring ahead without blinking. "He understands sibling love better than most people here. He'll make it his top priority to keep her safe, and badgering him about it through an earpiece will do nothing but annoy him since he'll think that you didn't think highly enough of him to consider that he already knows that he must save your sister."

Katniss sat down, holding her hands in her lap as the people in Command continued to go about their business. Despite everything Haymitch had gone through, he would always resent physical touch, but that didn't prevent him from putting his arm around Katniss and holding her as they watched Prim board the train for the Capitol. Here and there they heard of teams closing in on the Capitol, of hovercrafts returning after dropping off victors in their designated districts, of their plan being set in motion.

Katniss had silently cried herself to sleep and was now resting her head against Haymitch's shoulder as he watched the hidden cameras secured to Crewe, Cyan, Ven, and Nollie in District 5. The team was moving towards the outskirts of town towards the hole in the electric fence where they would slip under and then head back to their hidden hovercraft. Given that only Cyan was native to District 5, the others were relying on his knowledge of the district to see them through safely since he would know where Peacekeeper presence was heaviest. He led them to their exit, but when they were just yards from the hole, there came harsh shouts from off-camera.

"Crewe, get them out of there now," said Praxis urgently, but the order came too late as gunfire could be heard and the cameras flew about on their person as Crewe's team attempted to make a run for it. Nollie was first under the fence and she pulled Crewe through as she fired through the fence at the Peacekeepers who had spotted them. Cyan and Ven stood side by side, emptying their weapons on the Peacekeepers and Haymitch, now on his feet to watch the action, felt that if Cyan returned, a full apology was in order. As it turned out, the survivor instinct that ran in Cobalt's family had extended to Cyan as well, for Cobalt's twin showed no fear as he shot at the enemy that had allowed his brother to be murdered.

The gunfire ceased and Ven ushered Cyan towards the fence but through Ven's camera, Haymitch could see that Ven had come to a halt and then fallen to his knees as the sound of three gunshots rang out. Cyan's camera turned back around to see Ven collapsing in the mud with three red bullet holes staining his Reaping Day disguise. Cyan's face appeared in Ven's camera as Cyan tried to stop the bleeding and keep Ven awake, but then Crewe was reaching back under the fence to grab Cyan's leg and tug insistently. Cyan ripped the earpiece and camera off of Ven and then fled through the hole as the Peacekeepers shouted at each other to pursue the rebels into the surrounding abandoned buildings.

"The Peacekeepers won't catch them," said Alaida, visibly shaken, but in more control after what they had just seen than her father who had his hands clasped at his mouth in complete shock. Of all the places where something could go wrong, Haymitch could tell that he had not expected this to be one of them.

"Inform all units," said Alaida when Praxis continued to be unresponsive. "Peacekeepers will be on high alert. Haymitch, can you tell Caesar?"

"If Beetee's opened up communications, I can."

Haymitch tuned into his two-way radio with Caesar, trying to pick up a signal, but the static he heard suggested that either the other line was dead, or he would be patchy in his message. "Ven is down. Peacekeepers on alert. I repeat, Peacekeepers on alert." At this point, before the initial overtake, Haymitch was instructed to keep his messages as uncoded as possible so that anyone who happened to be listening in would be able to either make little sense of the message, or relate it to the Peackeeper scanner.

At the table beside Haymitch, Stave had his hands pressed over his ears, rocking back and forth and Haymitch wondered if he was going to have to tackle the man to prevent him from losing control, but Stave saw him in his uneasiness and with great effort, spoke silently to himself, still rocking, until his body posture relaxed and he sank deeper into his chair as the fit passed.

"You okay?" asked Haymitch.

Stave held up one thumb, but even that seemed to take enormous effort. There was no time for further discussion over Ven, Stave, or even the arrival of Bryx and Flax after dropping off Caesar in the Capitol, for Beetee had turned on the broadcast of the Reaping replays, this time with a live commentary included with a live audience. Perhaps Snow wanted to elevate the Games this year, even though last year's had been extravagant beyond measure. Perhaps, after the unwanted victor Haymitch emerged from the arena and called the Capitol out to be cowards only to (supposedly) die on his way home, Snow wanted to bring audience participation and enthusiasm up a few levels, so this live recap would get audience reactions to the reapings for the first time.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, your host for the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games," said an announcer, "Caesar Flickerman!"

"Do you think he heard your message?" asked Katniss, who was now fully awake and biting her nails in anticipation of Caesar's performance.

"Even if he did, it shouldn't change what he has to say tonight. Nothing major has happened that could alter our plans," said Praxis, finally coming out of his daze.

"Ven's murder isn't a major thing to you, is it?" said Haymitch angrily.

"There he is," said Alaida.

To rapturous applause, Caesar strode out onto the stage, arms spread wide to embrace his greeting. He had had his teeth whitened again and he wore a dazzling suit of sparkling grey to match the rather tamed silver wig he wore. His eyebrows were not painted, nor was his skin tanned. In fact, besides the wig, he looked just like the Caesar Haymitch had seen board the hovercraft only a day ago. The audience, it seemed, also noticed his appearance, for there were a few audible gasps of shock, but in a way that only Caesar knew how to do, he calmed them with a raise of his hand for silence.

"I know I must look absolutely dreadful to you all, but there's a good reason for that."

Praxis stood up at the council table, eyes bulging madly. "He wouldn't…"

"You see, I was abducted from my home nearly a year ago by a band of whom I could only assume to be either rebels or else boycotters of my abilities as game show host. I was taken in the middle of the night when they breached my security measures and I can assure you that the people who installed those measures will not be getting any more customers. I was brutally beaten and tortured as the people who had taken me demanded that I go to President Snow and beg him to put a stop to the Games. But how could I, a meager television host, persuade the president of Panem to end the nation's defining event? And what's more, _why_ would I? I am easily replaceable as a host and the Games would not stop just because I was not there. I refused to even entertain the notion, and so my abductors gave me one last chance before they planned to execute me. I can honestly say that they may have been the most dim-witted humans on this earth to have not thought this plan through, for I was able to overpower one of them who stood guard over me and I slipped out of what had been my prison for nearly seven months. I was just beyond the Capitol's walls, halfway between it and District 1, and I staggered back home."

There was a smattering of relieved applause from the audience as if seeing Caesar standing before them telling his story wasn't proof enough that he had made it out alive.

"A kind Capitol citizen saw me and identified me as the face she had seen host the Games for years, so she telephoned her doctor who cared for me so that I was fit to travel back to my own house. It was there that I spent the past three months recovering both physically and mentally, for I knew that my adoring and dedicated viewers would question my absence if I could not return to my job. But my torture left me scarred and I was unable to dress myself as I normally do, for my skin is now so sensitive, that it will not allow chemicals of any kind to touch it, so that is why I stand before you in this humble outfit, hoping you will forgive a poor man for not being as elaborate as usual."

Caesar bowed as the audience stood to applaud, cry, and whistle for him and Haymitch had to grin.

_You've got them, Caesar._

"Did you tell him to say that, or did he come up with it on his own?" asked Katniss.

"I told him nothing," said Praxis, looking as if he had lockjaw.

"And you were worried," said Flax to Praxis who gave him a deluxe death glare.


	15. Chapter 15: Hopeful and New

When Crewe, Cyan, and Nollie trudged into Command, Cyan's eyes found Haymitch and the two had a silent, but complete understanding of one another. Haymitch had been there when Brutus carved out Cobalt's life and Haymitch had done nothing because in order for the rebellion to succeed, all the other tributes besides Katniss had to die, including Cobalt. As Cyan tried to make Ven hold on, tried to keep him breathing as the bullet wounds took their toll, he knew he had to leave his friend in order to have time to escape, thus hiding evidence of a rebellion so that Snow wouldn't find out. Sacrifices had to be made and Cyan truly understood that now as he walked in, holding up his blood-stained hands to Haymitch.

"I—I tried to stop the bleeding," he said, staring down at the red coating on his hands that were trembling. "I didn't know what else to do."

"He's in shock," said Alaida, motioning to two guards to have Cyan removed and taken for medical inspection as well as to get cleaned off.

"Do you think he'll be able to participate in the coup?" asked Nollie in concern.

"He'll be ready," said Haymitch. "He watched his brother go off to the Games twice, watched him die the second time, and then managed to escape to come here. It's just initial shock; he'll be ready."

"Should we have a funeral for Ven now, or after?" asked Crewe.

"I promised him that we would raise a flag for the fallen once we take the Capitol," said Praxis. "Right now we cannot afford distractions from our primary target, not even to honor the dead."

There was too much truth in this to ignore it, but Haymitch still felt that something should be said for Ven. Luckily, it was Crewe who suggested a candlelit vigil take place right there in Command so that everyone could stay in their positions. Though candles were a rationed object, even Praxis could not deny this request, so once all the candles were distributed and lit, Crewe spoke briefly about Ven's eagerness to participate as a rebel, his kindness towards others, and his sacrifice for the rebels. As one, they all blew out their candles.

An announcer on the Capitol feed encouraged all of Panem to tune in to a special duo of interviews featuring "Deceased Victor Haymitch Abernathy's closest friends, Effie Trinket and Peeta Mellark".

"Why's Snow having him interview Effie and Peeta?" asked Katniss. "It's not enough that everyone thinks you and I are dead and that Prim is in the Games now? What's he trying to do?"

"Stamp out any remaining resistance that Twelve might have after losing two of their victors, I presume," said Praxis. "And, if he's heard of what happened in Five, he'll want to quash any stirrings of rebels in the other districts. Which means he still hasn't the faintest idea."

The Capitol Seal appeared onscreen and then the lights revealed Caesar and Peeta seated in Caesar's studio. Peeta was dressed as Haymitch had for years in a plain suit, but in the near year since losing both Haymitch and Katniss, the boy had done well for himself in keeping himself clean and presentable. But there was no more humor or love to be found on his kind features, only vacancy.

Caesar shook Peeta's hand in welcome and then launched right into the reason why Peeta was being given special airtime during the Games instead of focusing on the new batch of tributes.

"Can you tell us what happened that day on the train when Haymitch was last seen?" asked Caesar.

"I can tell you what I saw and heard, but I still don't know what exactly happened," said Peeta. "We all know that Haymitch got on that train headed home for District Twelve and he, Effie, and I were pretty much whiling the time away just sitting in the dining cart when the train came to a halt. It was an unscheduled stop since we had plenty of fuel, so we were curious, but not alarmed. Until those people came in."

_Those people_. Of course, Peeta couldn't say that Peacekeepers had stopped the train and taken Haymitch off, because it would make it look like Snow had ordered Haymitch's execution, but Snow would know that Peacekeepers were not instructed to interfere with Haymitch, so the president would suspect that something was amiss. Peeta, of course, knew neither, so by calling Praxis and Katniss as disguised Peacekeepers "those people", he had just unknowingly saved the rebellion.

"Those people?" Caesar repeated in a brilliant act of obliviousness.

"I don't know who they were, but they had weapons and they ordered Haymitch to get off the train. Effie and I couldn't follow because the doors sealed as soon as they got off. Haymitch never even said a word of goodbye to either of us; I think at that point he was too angry, too tired, and too far gone. Even with the Capitol's medicines keeping him alive, he was already dying on our way home."

"Dying of what?"

"A broken heart, maybe. He wanted to protect Katniss and he couldn't. I mean, Katniss and I looked up to him as family, and I know he saw us as surrogate children, even though he never would say that aloud. You know how he was, Caesar; he didn't like to show any emotion but hate."

"Oh, yes, I remember his interviews over the years quite well," said Caesar with a small, convincingly sad smile and Haymitch rolled his eyes. Caesar could tell Peeta a thing or two about Haymitch's tendency to demonstrate irrevocable hate.

"Those people led him out into the woods and then Effie and I heard a gunshot before the train got moving again. We didn't know what to do once we got home and all of District 12 was at the train station, happy to at least have two victors left, but only seeing one get off the train. We had to explain what we had heard; we reported it to our Head Peacekeeper, and then that was it. No Victory Tour, no dedication to him, no nothing. It was like losing a father figure in way," said Peeta, eyes cast down now. "But as bad as it was for me, Haymitch suffered so much worse. You could see him deteriorating on camera once he realized Katniss was dead. For him, it was like seeing your child reaped and then going into the Games with them, but being unable to save them. Parents shouldn't have to bury their children, but that's what Haymitch had to do, and it destroyed him."

"I understand," said Caesar sympathetically.

"Do you, Caesar?" Peeta challenged, looking like he was at the brink of boiling over. Haymitch had never seen such hostility on that boy's face, especially not with Caesar who always had a high level of respect for Peeta. "Do you know what it's like to bury family and friends _every year_."

_Yes, he does, Peeta. Caesar saw his sister killed. He sent all those children off to their deaths against his will. And he knows the horror of having to send a child into the Games because he has one on the way_.

"He has no idea," said Praxis.

"Yes, he does," said Farler in Caesar's defense, but Praxis cut him off.

"No, I meant the boy. Peeta has no idea that Caesar's one of ours."

_One of ours_. It was the first time Praxis had admitted that Caesar belonged to the rebels and accepted him as one of their own. No one in Thirteen but Haymitch, Meela, and Crewe knew that Caesar was soon to be a father, but no one besides Haymitch knew that Caesar's sister was buried in District 4 in a spot Caesar would never find because he couldn't return there. He was not born-and-bred Capitol material, but he was an expert at pretending to be something he was not.

"I feel like I do know, after hearing you and other victors talk about it," said Caesar to diffuse Peeta. "But I can't share that sentiment."

"Of course not."

Perhaps sensing the tension between the two, the camera crews cut off with an announcement that they would return shortly from a commercial break with an interview by Effie, but Haymitch didn't want to watch it anymore.

Katniss remained inside to try and get more news of Prim, but Haymitch took his leave to get "fresher air" by means of not being in a room crowded with people breathing in anticipation. Outside the door, however, he was surprised to find Cyan had already returned from treatment in the medical ward. His hands were now blood-free and he had been put in a new set of clothes, but he sat cross-legged on the floor, rubbing a thumb over a section on his skin where the blood had been.

Haymitch took a seat beside him, but said nothing. It was at least an hour before Cyan moved at all, but when he did, it was to scratch his nose.

"I shouldn't have said what I did about you being a coward," said Haymitch apologetically. "I'm sorry."

"Until I saw Ven choking on his own blood, I was," said Cyan. "Before the first reaping, I asked Cobalt if he would volunteer for me if I was chosen, just to see his reaction. He said that he would be the first to take my place, but that I didn't need to worry, because I wasn't going to be chosen. He said that if he was chosen, that I wasn't to return the favor because our father could provide for the family and our mother needed someone who could comfort her, something Cobalt was never very good at. He was the fighter, I was the thinker and the coward because as soon as his name was called, all I could think was, 'thank God it's not me'."

"That didn't stop you from grabbing him so that the Peacekeepers had to pry you two apart with crowbars," said Haymitch in what he hoped was a helpful, supportive tone.

"I'm the elder twin, though. It felt like watching my little brother being dragged away and it wasn't right because he was my responsibility. I couldn't protect him the first time or the second and I knew he wasn't going to win the second because he told me before he was reaped again that he hoped Shade or District 12 would win."

"He said that?"

"His exact words were, 'Twelve is the best chance we have,' but I know he preferred Shade. She was his protégée and he loved her, much like how you love Katniss."

"I don't—"

"Yes, you do. I don't know in what way, but you do. You love her and Peeta, Effie Trinket, and I might go as far as to say C—"

"No," said Haymitch firmly. "Concern for well-being and love are two very different things."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"You should go back to your pod. Someone will come and get you if anything major happens between now and ship-out day," said Haymitch, though not in an unfriendly tone. Cyan went, but he hadn't been gone two minutes when he was replaced by Meela whose swollen belly preceded her down the hallway.

"Haymitch, why aren't you in Command?"

"Snow's televising an interview with Effie and Peeta talking about their last moments with me and it's not really something I want to watch."

"Who's interviewing them?" asked Meela, but she didn't know that her off-hand remark was not wasted on Haymitch.

"Caesar. I let him now of some earlier events, but he hasn't responded, probably because he's been on and off air for most of the evening and I don't want my communication interfering with whatever the studio is telling him. He's fine, though."

"I'm sure he is. Is Crewe inside?"

"Yes, and he's fine as well."

"Then I won't bother going in. I just came to check on him and—"

Meela suddenly grasped her belly and set her hand against the wall to steady herself. Haymitch stood up, ready to catch her if she should fall, but she waved off his help.

"Is the baby coming?"

"Oh, no, not for another two or three weeks at least—I hope. It could be earlier. They were just kicking."

"They?"

"Yeah, the doctors were able to tell me this morning that it'll be twins; a boy and a girl."

"Does Crewe know?"

"Oh—yeah. Yeah, he does."

Haymitch made sure his microphone wasn't on and then lowered his voice as he stepped in closer to Meela. "Well, we both know those babies aren't Crewe's. Would you like me to tell their father?" Meela grew pale, but only briefly as Haymitch continued. "He told me before he left and asked me to make sure that you stay here. Once I ship out, I don't have any way to make sure you obey his wishes, so I'm asking you now that no matter what you see or hear from the front lines, you won't go in looking for him."

"I'll be here," said Meela, though her eyes were glistening. "I want to make sure he has someone to come back to. But I want you to do me a favor, if you can. Crewe is my best friend and he's already risking so much in covering for me. Please, I know that you have friends out there who you'll want to be with every step of the way, but please protect Crewe."

"He doesn't need protection."

"He did during that airlift. Caesar saved him."

"Yeah, well Caesar's full of surprises."

Meela suddenly took Haymitch's hand and guided it to her stomach. Haymitch had seen other people do this to pregnant women, though he never understood why until he felt the kick press against the inside of Meela's belly and travel out to touch his hand. Startled, Haymitch drew back, but then at Meela's encouragement, put his hand back to feel another kick.

"That—That's incredible."

"That's the boy. He heard you talking about his father, so he's saying hello."

Encouraged by this exchange with new life, Haymitch switched his microphone back on, not caring if Caesar was live at the moment or not. "Twins," he said. "There's two."


	16. Chapter 16: Expect the Unexpected

The opening ceremonies were punctured for the first time in Haymitch's memory with actual boos directed not towards the tributes, but the Capitol. Peacekeepers were on hand to subdue any violent actions because the people of the Capitol were irate that Primrose Everdeen had been chosen to replace her sister in the hopes that she would provide the same drama her sister had for two years in a row. During the Quarter Quell, there had been sobs of farewell to beloved victors, but with this new level of treachery by Snow to subdue any uprisings, the people were starting to turn on him.

The outfits were nothing grand to speak of except for Twelve and Two, the former which had Prim and her district partner looking like the same candlelit vigil they had held for Ven (Cinna's work, most likely a tribute to honor Haymitch and Katniss), and Jax's stylist had fashioned him into a strong, muscular blacksmith by emphasizing his muscles with artificial dirt and sweat, coating his face in fake grime and his hands in fake burns so that he already looked hardened by years of labor. To make that teenage boy look as old as his brother was quite a feat, but not necessarily a bad thing because Kao, despite his handicap, was a longtime Capitol heartthrob and it looked as if Jax had now replaced him.

On the day of scoring, District 1 had matching 10's, Jax came in with an 11 while his partner scored a 9, Districts 3, 6, 7, 8, 10, and 11 had a variety of scores all below 8 and Four scored 9's. The pre-selected female tribute from Five named Solara came in with an inconspicuous 7 and her partner earned a 5. The boy from Nine, Willem, came in with an 8 and his district partner scored a 6. Katniss suspected that Prim would demonstrate her skill of being able to tend to injuries since she had no mean bones in her body and was incapable of doing anyone physical, verbal, mental, or emotional harm. The 5 she earned was no surprise, but not encouraging either, especially if the tributes Jax had not managed to convince picked her out as an early target.

From within the Capitol, Glaze, Kao, Silica, Slone, and Axle all kept Thirteen updated on the tributes who had taken the side of the rebels and would not draw blood once the gong rang, though the plan was still to at least get them all moving into the water until it was certain that the cameras could no longer pick them up and trigger unpleasantries from the Gamemakers.

The scores, however, were the last thing any of the soldiers saw before shipping out to the outskirts of the Capitol. They were crammed into hovercrafts, stole aboard freight trains, and even clung to the bottom of cars to move in towards the Capitol where camps were already set up in preparation for their arrival. The tent that served as Command had someone working in direct correlation with Beetee back in Thirteen while Praxis stayed online with his daughter. Now the static between communications was almost nonexistent as Haymitch relayed updates to Caesar who had yet to speak back, but did manage to tap his microphone in a old system someone from District 3 recognized as Morse Code. Caesar relayed that no one suspected him and that everyone on the inside would be in position after the final interviews, which Haymitch and the rest of the rebels were to watch their last night in camp.

Moral was high, but anxious as those in the Command tent shared food packs and exchanged stories while they awaited the airing of the final interviews. Haymitch listened to Niles share the birth of his son and noticed that some of the rebels were clinging to every word, for it may well be the last bit of promising new life they would ever hear. Katniss stayed on the line with Silica who was doing her best to report all updates on Prim, Cinna, and the rest of the Twelve representatives. Flax and Farler were meticulously cleaning their weapons in preparation for the morning siege, but it was Flax who inquired about Caesar.

"Anything?" he asked Haymitch.

"No, but I wouldn't worry. The interviews are about to start and he's probably in prep, so he can't talk to us with so many people tending to him right now." But even as he said it, Haymitch heard a series of taps from the other end of his earpiece and he translated them to the rebel who could interpret them.

"He says that President Snow will be attending the interviews," said the rebel.

Praxis consulted with Alaida over his own earpiece and then Beetee was transferred onto a projection screen.

"These are all steps to procure obedience in the districts. The reaping of Prim, having Caesar announce the Reapings, the interviews with Peeta and Effie, and now Snow's personal appearance. Haymitch's supposed murder had more of an effect on the people of Panem than we thought; they're furious, and so Snow is trying to calm the storm by reminding everyone that the Capitol has absolute power. I don't think he suspects the uprising yet because he has no reason to flaunt his power to anyone. He doesn't think there's a force outside of the Capitol to contend with. So we're still in the clear, but all the insiders, informants, and rebels need to stay online. We can't risk missing a single bit of information."

Beetee tuned out just as the Capitol anthem began to play, only to fade into Caesar Flickerman's show theme song. The tooting trumpets and trombones reached their peak once Caesar appeared onstage with hands raised and smile beaming to the same type of welcome his reaping audience had given him. Roses landed on the stage as well as tokens of affection for the game show host who had survived brutal torture just to return to his favorite job.

"They love him," Farler observed. "More than the victors who had to participate last year."

"Wonder how they'd feel if they knew the truth," said Gerrod. "In a nation like ours, love can only go so far. It stops when your life's at stake, when you have the option of volunteering for someone else in the reapings, when you have to decide to turn on your allies in the Games, when you have to leave your friends behind to live another day. Rue's friends only had enough love to wave goodbye to her as she got on the train, but not enough to take her place."

Katniss wept silent tears, for it was the first time any of them had heard Gerrod speak of his daughter's murder. The man was an emotionless shell, but an angry and intimidating one at that with those off-setting golden eyes. Praxis had put him second-in-command behind Niles in one of them teams after observing Gerrod's relentless training and skill for picking off targets atop buildings.

"Those people don't love Caesar," said Haymitch to break the uncomfortable silence that followed Gerrod's proclamation. "They adore him, but only because his face is the one they've seen for four decades. They're grateful that he's back because they fear change. They would have had to adjust to a new host and after last year, they need reassurance that this year's Games will be just like they always have been, so with Caesar spinning that tale of how he escaped his captors to return to them, they show their appreciation. They love what he stands for and that's sameness."

"That's quite some deduction on your part," said Praxis with a cocked eyebrow.

"That's how the people saw me last year," said Haymitch, remembering the boos and the shouts of hatred he got from the crowd when he emerged victor and stood on the platform for them all to see. When they saw his frail, emaciated body unlike the past victors who always came out sparkling new, they hated Haymitch's appearance because it wasn't what they expected.

"The Capitol wanted me to be the drunk mentor who occasionally waved to the crowd while acknowledging drinking jokes at my own expense, so when I became a tribute again, they weren't ready to deal with what I had to say. When I won, they loathed me because I didn't die like I was supposed to, like how the Games meant for me to in order to keep the victor the same. When I wrote them all off as insensitive, blind, stupid cowards, they hated me because they assumed their victors loved them for their support. That audience has never known discomfort, so they fear it, unlike the rest of the nation who have thrived on that discomfort that's made us stronger. Caesar understands this, and that's how he can pull that awful smile off and make it seem genuine."

"Well, let's hope he's as good as you give him credit for, because with Snow there, it might throw him tonight," said Praxis as he turned up the volume to the program.

"Good evening, citizens of Panem, and how are we doing this evening?" shouted Caesar so half the Capitol could hear him. An equally loud burst of applause responded and Caesar blew a few kisses to the crowd, swiping a rose off of the floor and tucking it into his lapel. When the noise died down, he made a great sweep of his arm as if to include the whole world in his address. "We have suffered as a nation this past year in our losses with illness and quarantine in the districts as well as here in the Capitol, but no sickness could ever stamp out our dedication to tradition and our drive to move forward as we celebrate the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games!" More applause and whistles. "I am particularly impressed with the scores this year and even more impressed with the wit, attitude, and fierceness of our tributes. I'm as anxious as you all to meet them, so let's have a very warm welcome for our first tribute of the night from District 1, Miss Prestige Riordan!"

Prestige was a young woman with a slim build and jet-black hair, but unlike Glimmer and Cashmere who came before her, she was not made to play up a sexual aspect, but rather mysterious as she had half of her face covered in her swirl of carefully sculpted bangs so that the one visible eye shone on the audience. It was an appealing aspect in that the audience wanted to see her full face, see what secrets she had to offer.

Caesar welcomed her onto the interview couch and began. "So, Prestige, you volunteered this year, but the rumors say it's because you wanted to finally get a chance to work with your mentor Glaze whom the audience will remember as Blazing Glaze from the Thirty-Eighth Annual Hunger Games." Sections of the audience roared their approval and support of the past victor as the spotlight left Prestige to shower on Glaze sitting besides Prestige's stylist in a tailored black suit with a sheen of some sparkling material on it—so different from the humble refugee clothes he had worn back in Thirteen.

"Yes, Caesar, those rumors would be true," said Prestige in a seductively adult voice for a young woman. "Glaze was one of those citizens who fell ill this past year and he spent over half the year locked in his house taking medication, trying to stay alive by what was delivered to him, but unwilling to let anyone inside because he didn't want to infect anyone else, otherwise I would have been there every day to tend to him. His family owned the mercantile shop where my parents used to take me and he didn't need to work, being a victor and all, but he still did and he'd always give me a piece of candy from the jars on display. I think I was his favorite customer."

"Oh, please," said Katniss, hiding her eyes behind her hands. "Where do the women in One come up with this gooey rubbish?"

"One and Two know how to trigger the Capitol's weak spots because they're the Capitol's pets," said Cyan. "The people loved a romance that could never be with you and Peeta, so they'll love a potential romance between mentor and victor even more. She knows exactly what's she's doing."

"Potential romance?" repeated Crewe in disgust. "He's over thirty years her senior!"

"Age doesn't matter in Panem, though, does it?" said Stave. "Twelve year olds are taken to their deaths for amusement, so why can't an eighteen-year-old fall in love with a man over twice her age?"

"Well, they both have dark hair," said Flax half-heartedly and Farler kicked him to shut him up.

"So, has he trained you well, do you think? Has he given you a strategy based off of his own, or do you have something else up your sleeves—figuratively, since you don't seem to have any sleeves in that beautiful purple dress."

"Well, with his help, my fellow district partner and I know how to start a fire better than anyone else in the Games," said Prestige. "I only hope that when I'm out there, that I can do him proud." Prestige beamed at Glaze who returned the smile and gave a slight bow of his head to her.

"Well, I hope she came up with that angle on her own, because Glaze never told us anything about it over communication," said Praxis. "Does anyone know if this is for the cameras?"

"For the sponsors more like," said Katniss. "She's about as convincing as I was. I know my own style of fake romance and that's it right there. And Glaze doesn't think of her in a romantic way, I mean look at him; he's dying to get out of there."

"Maybe she threatened him," suggested Niles. "Maybe he and Jax tried to get her to join the rebellion, but she wants the Games to go on, so she threatened to expose Glaze if he didn't let her sexualize him. Hypothetically, if the Games continued, she would want to win so that Glaze would have no choice but to accept her as a lover."

"I want to kill her myself now," said Katniss in disgust.

"That's what we're trying to avoid," Gerrod reminded her.

"But as of right now, nineteen out of twenty-four tributes are aware of and willing to take part in the rebellion and she's not on the list," said Praxis. "She, her district partner, the female tribute for Two, and the two tributes from Twelve. Twelve can't know because we can't risk anyone related to Haymitch and Katniss finding out, otherwise they'll be the first ones taken into captivity by Snow."

"I understand the female from Two because obviously Kao and Silica are favoring Jax over her, but how is it that Glaze can't convince the other half of the Career pack to join?" questioned Crewe.

"The fire," said Stave, but he didn't elaborate.

Haymitch thought at first Stave meant the figurative fire he and Katniss had started, but Stave meant the fire that Glaze had used to wipe out the other tributes in his arena. Then, Haymitch remembered how Glaze had had a momentary weakness when he and Kao were exchanging playful, competitive banter and Kao pointed out how Glaze was a pyromaniac. Perhaps Glaze was more unhinged from his Games than anyone had originally thought. Perhaps he didn't have the mental capacity to persuade his tributes to join the cause.

Prestige's district partner Fleece had perfectly chiseled muscles that his stylist emphasized in a see-through shirt that showed off every bit of his upper body. He had the cocky air of most District One males, but not the toughness seen in Two or the manipulation noted in Four. Caesar asked him about Glaze and Prestige, but Fleece only noted how the two of them had spent quite a long time on her half of the interview preparations, which sent the audience into a frenzy, vying for this other forbidden relationship. The cameras went back to Prestige who let her single eye catch the light before Glaze was shown with his hands hidden in his suit pockets, most likely balled into fists.

"Someone get him online, tell him to keep it together," said Praxis, snapping his fingers at the rebels in charge of communicating with the rebellion-sympathetic victors.

"Glaze, your poker face is starting to melt off," said Glaze's communicator, and by the time the cameras had left him, Glaze had wiped his face clean of any emotion once again.

"Is the temperature rising in the room, or is it just me?" said Caesar with a good-natured laugh. "Let's bring out our female tribute from District Two, Shale Monroe!"

"Remind Kao and Silica to not show favoritism onscreen—"

"They're smarter than that. Besides, they've got Lyme and Gossan there to help mentor, so this Shale girl won't feel completely left out—"

"Will you allow me to make the decisions, please, soldier?"

Haymitch listened to Praxis argue with his team and advisors while Shale answered Caesar's questions in a very sweet manner. Her score of nine was fooling no one, because behind that bright and quirky face, Haymitch saw the same sadistic nature that Clove had had. This girl was the one to subdue as soon as the gong rang, the one to block from getting to the Cornucopia, but she was enormous, even taller than Jax, so it was going to be a tough thing.

"And now, put your hands together for District Two's Jax Bender!"

Jax looked slightly younger than he had at the tribute parade, but still quite old with the makeup on his face used to emphasize every small wrinkle and scar. His navy blue outfit had the sleeves stylishly torn off so that it looked like he had just come from a hard day's work and could take the restraint on his muscles no longer, ripping them off to allow a cool breeze to flow through his clothes. He and Caesar shook hands as if they had never met, and then President Snow appeared on stage.


	17. Chapter 17: Unfazed

Unfazed, Caesar welcomed the president. "Ladies and gentlemen, President Snow himself!"

The applause was polite for the president who took a seat to Caesar's left so that Caesar was still the main object on stage besides the tribute, but so that Snow was still in a position where he could observe. Jax, either legitimately stunned or playing his part well, didn't move until Snow motioned that the boy should take a seat as well. Snow would not touch the tributes; that was the victor's glory alone.

"So, Jax, you come from a family of victors," said Caesar, but Jax swallowed hard and visibly. "Jax, look at me, dear boy, I'm not addressing the audience, you know." Jax trained his eyes on Caesar who had omitted speaking about the president in this address so that Jax would feel that it was only him and Caesar on the stage. The boy was suffering from actual stage fright now, but Caesar's experienced demeanor brought him back around.

"I'm sorry, what was the question?"

"You come from a family of victors. Your brother Kao who lost his hand in the Forty-Sixth Games, and your sister Silica who won the Sixty-First Games were both your mentors this year as well as previous victors Lyme and Gossan. You're the only known tribute to be lucky enough to have the support of both family and friends in preparation for your Games, so tell me, has it been easier on you knowing that your siblings are here to help you?"

"Not easier, but I'd say comforting. I didn't have to say goodbye at the train, but then again, with me being the third tribute chosen in the family, we don't say goodbye anymore because we just assume that we'll come back. Kao did—with one less hand—and Silica did, so I think I will too."

"Do you feel like you have to live up to expectations that they've set for you?"

"That's a brilliant question," said Niles appreciatively. "That boy always wanted to be a victor anyway, especially when Cato stole his first chance and he thought the Seventy-Sixth Games wouldn't happen, but that question isn't for the camera's sake; it's for his. That's a question Jax actually can respond to without making something up."

As if on cue, Jax looked over towards where Kao and Silica sat in the audience. "Kao survived with one hand after having to cut it off himself. Silica was almost assaulted, but she came through unscathed. There's something waiting to test me out in the Games, something that no other tribute has faced, and when I meet it, I'll overcome it. I'm not saying it'll be easy, but my brother and sister were able to defeat staggering odds and neither of them had their siblings to support them. Kao was alone as the first and Silica went in alone because Kao was sick that year. I have both of them, which tells me that they'll be with me every step of the way."

The audience cheered for Jax and for sibling love, but Caesar then brought the conversation back to reality when he asked Jax if he felt that his siblings would sacrifice Shale for him.

"Oh, we both know they can't do that. Kao, Silica, Lyme, and Gossan have to work together to bring at least one of us home. If something happens to me, my siblings will do everything they can to make sure Shale makes it. It depends largely on our sponsors; if one of us receives more help than the other, or one of us fares better than the other, our mentors might decide to choose one of us, but that's always the difficult part for a mentor in deciding who has more potential. If it comes down to the two of us, I guess our mentors will be split, unless Kao decides to give up on me because of that time I accidentally broke one of his Victory Tour medals."

Katniss took a sip from her canteen. "If this were the real Games, Kao and Silica would have to choose between their brother and Shale, like you did Haymitch. You chose me both times."

"The first time it was because you had potential, the second time because I wanted to. I had saved Peeta from the arena, then it was time to save you. It was only by chance that Praxis had chosen you too."

"Do you have a different strategy than your siblings?" asked Caesar.

"I don't think so; my strategy is to win."

Caesar laughed and the audience followed suit.

"In all seriousness, though, Jax, what do you plan to do?"

"I'm hoping for an arena that will let me show off my skills with a spear, an open range with nothing to deflect my aim. I actually hold the record for chucking a spear in all Hunger Games history."

"Really? Well, then, I'd say that the odds are certainly favoring you right now."

The buzzer rang and Caesar reached out to shake Jax's hand again, but the firmness in the shake was evident to the rebels who took it as a sign of good luck to the boy, for this would be the last time Caesar would see him unless all went according to plan. President Snow waved farewell to Jax as he exited the stage and was replaced with the District Three female.

Solara from Five talked about how she was inspired by Cobalt's determination, but Shade's style and how watching the Quarter Quell had motivated her to play to her own agenda and not an ally's. Willem from Nine had a nervous stutter, but he claimed it was clearest now speaking with Caesar than it had been throughout the entire week. The tributes for District 6 spoke about Slone's superb mentoring and commented on how grateful they were that he had managed to keep himself off of any substance so that at least someone would be left to help mentor the children from Six. Axle's tributes from Nine were just as surly as he was, but at least they had the decency to smile and shake Caesar's hand whereas Axle had spent most of his interview grunting. Old Ezben, Renner's father, had done what he could with the tributes who had one eye and the other a habit of spelling out letters in midair. When it came time for Prim, the Command tent was dead silent so that Katniss could hear her sister's voice.

"Primrose Everdeen," greeted Caesar, guiding Prim to her seat by the hand. To her credit, Prim completely ignored Snow, but Haymitch wanted to reach through the screen and throttle the old man for daring to sit there within feet of Prim and openly taunt her about Katniss and how neither sister could beat the system.

"I remember when your sister sat in the very chair you're sitting in," said Caesar with a note of kindness that he often reserved for the most timid, youngest tributes. "She told me that she had but one goal, and that was to win for you. And she did."

"She did," Prim agreed. "And now I have to win for her."

"Do you think you have a good chance?"

"As long as I can avoid the bloodbath, I think I can make it," said Prim. "My mother's the closest thing we have to a doctor in Twelve and she's taught me all she knows about healing, but also about surviving on minimal resources. I might be the only one out in the arena who can stitch myself up as I'm bleeding out."

"Those skills are invaluable, indeed."

"I owe it to Katniss to survive. She died for me, so I have to do everything I can to show her that her sacrifice wasn't wasted."

"And how has Peeta Mellark helped you cope with this new stage in your journey?"

"Peeta loved my sister more than life itself, but since he couldn't save her, he said that his new mission is to save me. And I think that together, the two of us can get me through this. He doesn't have any experience mentoring, unless you count trying to help Haymitch and Katniss last year."

At the mention of Haymitch's name, the audience went completely silent and Snow fidgeted for the first time.

"Ah, Haymitch. Do you think, that if Peeta had been the one to go into the Quarter Quell, and hadn't survived, that Haymitch would do as well as Peeta has in mentoring you?"

"I don't know," said Prim with a contemplative shrug. "I only really knew him as a drinking man because whenever Katniss had him over, he had a bottle, and she would tell me of how he could lose his temper so easily, but he was kind to me. He never shouted when I was around and even helped me feed my goat back home a few times. I think that he was a good man because my cat Buttercup even liked him and my cat never liked anyone but me."

"So, in your book, Haymitch was a winner?"

"Yes."

"When this is over, you owe her one," said Katniss, smiling through tears at her sister as Caesar gave her a comforting sideways hug and sent her on her way. The male tribute, Alastor, was an extremely talkative boy, but he made no such remarks about Haymitch, Katniss, and Peeta. When his time was up, Caesar welcomed President Snow to the center of the stage to make an announcement.

"Citizens of Panem, I thank you for tuning in tonight to see the promising batch of tributes who have come forth to remind us that nothing has changed in the past few years. Some have fallen, but as a nation, we have hurtled forward, relentless and determined as ever to endure. And so we shall for now and forevermore. Thank you, and good night."

The same polite applause followed this speech, but it was Caesar who brought the house down.

"The president put it in larger and better words than I, but I have to say to you all thank you for your devotion, your emotion, and your love for the Games and all they stand for. Join me now in bidding good luck to the tributes of the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games!"

Rapturous applause made the entire room shudder as everyone was on their feed, whooping, cheering, whistling, sobbing, laughing, and projecting every positive emotion for the tributes to see before the program ended.

"Well, I think Soldier Flickerman enjoyed his last stint as Panem's most beloved television show host," said Praxis. "Haymitch, give him the final details and tell him to answer verbally this time. Tell him we're moving into position now and to remember the signal."

Haymitch switched on his microphone. "Positioning now. No interference until after the gong. Distractions. Acknowledge call sign."

It was a good minute of interference before Haymitch could make anything out, but when he did, it was Caesar saying as if in passing, "Oh, I remember that."

"We're good to go," Haymitch told Praxis.

"Good, then divide into your teams and prepare to position yourselves. You'll be there until the call sign is given. You have your assignments. Good luck to you all."

Haymitch fell into line behind his team leader, Niles, for he had been assigned second-in-command. Katniss, Flax, Cyan, and Stave made up the rest of his team. Geared up and ready to go, they stole underground through the passages that the rebels had dug and discovered. For at least two hours, they navigated these tunnels, keeping communication with Command to a minimum. Haymitch was beginning to gag on his own breath backlash when Niles led them up through a sewer, then a train platform, and finally, the Capitol itself. This entire time, Beetee had been at work disrupting the Capitol's defenses so that the teams could sneak in undetected.

Niles picked out a series of apartments that looked as if they might not all be occupied, crept up to the ground level, and peered in through one of the windows. Noting that it was indeed empty, Niles sent out their coordinates to Command so that the hackers could disable security for the apartment and they could break in through the window. Flax fiddled with the lock, cracked the window open, and then the six of them climbed inside, taking extra care to not be any louder than they had to be in order to get situated and wait for Caesar's signal in the morning. Haymitch volunteered for first watch in rotation with Flax, positioning himself at the window while Flax took the door.

_Tomorrow_, thought Haymitch with equal parts dread and excitement. Tomorrow Snow would know that the rebels were not ones to be written off. The Games would end, the Capitol would fall, and Snow would be made to answer for his crimes—if all went according to plan, and given that Snow was already throwing them for loops without even knowing of their existence, it was highly unlikely that all would go according to plan.


	18. Chapter 18: Falling Skies

"Wake up," said Niles, shaking Haymitch into alertness.

Outside on the streets as well as within the apartment complex, Haymitch could hear citizens exchanging excited greetings as the time neared for the Games. Checking his watch, he saw that it was only about half an hour before the Games began, which left them all time to use the restroom, scarf down an airtight bar packed with protein and fiber, and ready their weapons. Their neighbors upstairs were hammering on the ground in drunken exhilaration and the people down the hall were running up and down the carpeted hallways flying streamers behind them. Haymitch pressed his eye to the peephole at the door to see two Peacekeepers corralling the out-of-hand citizens back into their apartment.

"That's got to be a record," said one of them as they passed Haymitch's team's door. "Four disturbance calls before the Games even start."

Privately, Haymitch agreed. There was only one thing that made him sicker to his stomach than seeing children slaughter each other and that was seeing Capitol citizens show such disrespect by treating it all like an over-glorified birthday party.

"Haymitch, give Caesar the okay," said Niles.

In a low voice, Haymitch said into his microphone, "Light it up."

"And here we go…"

Haymitch and the others crowded around the television as it instantly turned on to reveal the golden seal of the Capitol and then a collage of the twenty-four tributes for the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games. Their faces faded out to show Caesar seated beside Claudius Templesmith at a white metal desk with a stack of notes in front of them. While Claudius's crimped hair was sitting flyaway fashion on his head, Caesar's grey wig look positively normal in comparison.

"Welcome, welcome to the start of the Seventy-Sixth Annual Hunger Games! Our tributes are currently waiting beneath the arena in the Launch Rooms and in just a few short minutes, we'll be starting the countdown. The odds are stacked, the bets pouring in, and everyone in the nation is tuned in to witness the return of the Games we so dearly love."

"That's right, Caesar," said Claudius brightly, blinking to rid his eyelashes of the glitter that someone had sprinkled a little too generously on them.

Only because Haymitch had spent eight months (though reluctantly) in the same pod as Caesar, trained him, and watched him, did he notice how Caesar seemed to be giving off every sign that he was nervous, but it was oblivious to the others once he pointed it out, which gave him a small bit of comfort because if they couldn't detect it, neither could Snow. Still, Caesar was gripping his pen tighter than usual, flicking the corner of one of his notes repeatedly as he continued to glance at the clock set behind him.

"Be calm," said Haymitch into the microphone.

Caesar's posture relaxed, he let his pen rest on the desk, and he shifted his attention to Claudius who had just finished a short recollection on the remaining victors.

"Here's the countdown from the final minute…"

The clock began to tick back from sixty and the cameras went live to show the seemingly vast ocean of the arena with twenty-four pedestals with tributes rising out of them in similar wetsuits as last year, only this time instead of a uniform look, the tributes were color-coded. Prim and Alastor stood out in canary yellow which seemed unfair because the Careers would have easily found them, had they tried to hide, in the underwater catacombs. Jax and Shale wore matching silver suits with a black stripe down the front.

"Steady, Jax," said Silica from the frequency reserved specifically for the arena extraction team. In response to his sister's words, Jax's face hardened in concentration much like Marvel's and Cato's had in the Games two years ago. It was the face of a child about to kill.

Katniss took Haymitch's hand again as they watched the last few seconds. Four…three…two…one…

The gong sounded and the tributes dove head-long into the water, some of them surfacing right away and struggling to swim deep enough to get to the force field while others were already clawing their way inside.

"And it's begun, the fight to the Cornucopia," said Caesar excitedly. "Whoever gets there first and grabs a weapon will be the one to ignite the fire that sends the rest of them reeling into the bloodbath."

"All units are go," said Praxis's voice over every earpiece, communicuff, and speaker. "Repeat, all units are go."

It was instantaneous, the gunfire heard around the city, the screams of terror, the explosions, the return fire, the call to arms. But even as chaos reigned in the Capitol, the televisions all switched off at once and then Niles pulled up the arena on the cameras still available to them by way of Beetee so that the rebels could communicate with the tributes.

"Caesar, get out of there," said Haymitch. "Get to your team, but stay online."

One by one the tributes were slithering through the forcefield, landing on all fours and trying to adjust to suddenly being on level ground. Jax, Sonora, and Willem were out in front of the Cornucopia, unarmed, but standing to prevent the tributes from going for the weapons. Like clockwork, the other tributes formed a semi-circle around the Horn of Plenty, none of them too close to one another because they still feared that this was all a clever ruse and that the fighting would break out at any moment.

"You're all doing exactly what you should be doing," said Jax supportively.

When Districts One and Twelve as well as Shale appeared, they paused at the sight of all the tributes staring and not acting, but the pause didn't last long. Haymitch watched as the tributes looked to Jax, Sonora, and Willem for direction while Prestige, Fleece, Shale, Alastor, and Prim kept moving with the former three slipping and sprinting over the floor towards the Cornucopia while Prim snatched up a medical kit nearby and prepared to run.

Jax put his fingers to his mouth and whistled so shrilly that Alastor and Prim turned to him, waiting to see what he was doing.

"Don't fight!" Jax shouted. "The cameras are all off and no one can see us now. The rebels have infiltrated the Capitol and we're being airlifted out. No one needs to kill anyone else to survive. We can all go home."

"Nice try, Bender," said Prestige as she emerged with a lethal-looking curved sword and a whip with spikes on it.

"You know it's true, but you refused to join in the rebellion because of what you want from your mentor. That's never going to happen if you don't put your weapons down now, Prestige," said Willem.

"You can't stop a bloodbath, little rebels. And if you won't kill to defend yourselves, you'll have to just sit there and watch as I do."

Alastor had grabbed a baton, but the tributes from Seven and Eight encouraged him to put it down, showing him that they were unarmed and unwilling to fight. Shale had just put her hands on a double-sided axe when the tributes from Three, Five, and Eleven threw themselves upon her and held her down as she kicked and fought. Fleece was now looking unsure of what to do when Jax held up his microphone and earpiece.

"Look, the rebels are in contact with me right now. I can get Glaze online and he can tell you again for himself that this is happening. Please, don't do something stupid."

Fleece made a few tentative steps away from the Cornucopia, still holding his spiked knuckles and staff, but he looked less certain as Jax began to close the distance with the other tributes.

"Jax, if One won't give in, so be it, but Prim's in Prestige's danger zone, get her out of there," said Silica over the arena frequency.

"Prim," said Jax softly. "Step back."

"What's going on?" Prim demanded. "Why aren't you fighting?"

"I'm friends with Katniss, Prim. She's with the rebels, helping them take the Capitol. She asked me to personally protect you."

"She's dead," said Prim in a high-pitched voice. "She was killed last year and she's been buried outside my house for all that time. I don't believe you."

"She thinks you're trying to lure her in to kill her," said Silica. "She'll be even less convinced since she thinks this entire thing is a setup to get rid of her family forever. You have to find some way of gaining her trust, Jax."

"I'm trying," said Jax, extending his hand to Prim. "Look, Prim, I'm not armed. I have nothing to hurt you with. Here, take my earpiece and Katniss will talk to you herself."

"She's dead," Prim repeated.

"No, sweetie, she's not," said Jax, but then looked upward towards the cavernous ceiling as if to say, _Help me._

Katniss took the microphone from Niles and practically shouted into it, "Tell her 'little duck'. That's something only she and I know about, I only used it for her when there was no one else around. Tell her!"

"Katniss says…she says to tell you, 'little duck'," said Jax.

A light of hope appeared on Prim's face, a light telling that she so desperately wanted to believe what Jax was telling her, but how, _how_ could she?

Prestige made her move, flicking out her whip so that it closed around Prim's arm, tearing open skin as it went. Katniss screamed in Haymitch's ear as Prestige raised her sword to slice off Prim's appendage and then remove her head. Jax threw himself at Prestige, trying to wrestle the weapons out of her hands, but receiving cuts along his skin at the same time. The other tributes stood by, unsure of what to do except to keep Fleece closed in so that he couldn't escape or use his weapon to hurt anyone.

Prestige elbowed Jax hard in the groin and he recoiled, allowing her time to stab him through the side.

"_Jax_!" Kao and Silica screamed.

Prestige turned her weapons back on Prim who was frozen in fear when Jax rose up, armed only with a small knife from the pack he had fallen on. Haymitch saw the reservation on his face. He knew that in killing Prestige, he might issue a free-for-all and completely destroy the alliance, but to save Prim and to ensure that the least amount of bloodshed was done, he had to be the one to do it because she would never side with the rebels, even if she did believe they existed. Jax launched himself forward, tackling her around the middle so that they ended up at Prim's feet. Just as Prestige made to stab Jax through the mouth with her sword, Jax dug the tip of his knife into her chest, holding off her sword arm with the rest of his strength. Prestige gasped in shock and pain, blinking up at Jax who let out a dry sob.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "I tried to tell you."

_Good, boy, keep talking_. By saying it out loud, Jax was diffusing any doubts the tributes had after seeing one tribute murder another.

"We all tried to tell you. The rebels are here. I wanted all of us to make it out, but you wouldn't listen. I'm so sorry."

Jax sat back, hands resting on his wound and he winced. "Get to the elevator," he told the tributes. "They'll be here soon to airlift you out. You might have to fight your way past Peacekeepers, so those of you who know how to fight, find a weapon; those of you who can't, team up with someone who can protect you. We're all a team now, understand? All the districts are united against the Capitol. No one here is your enemy."

"What about those two?" asked the District Nine female, pointing at Fleece and Shale.

Fleece dropped his weapon the spot. "I can fight the Peacekeepers, but I don't know if you trust me to use a weapon right now."

"The only way we can survive this is to trust each other, so yes, pick it up," said Willem. "I'll team up with you myself."

"And Shale?"

"Tie her up," said Jax. "I'll stay behind with her until the rebels send in help to lift her out because I don't think she's as willing as Fleece to give up."

"I'll stay with you," said Prim, kneeling beside Jax and removing the part of his shirt that had been torn by Prestige's sword. "I can help you."

"No, Prim, your sister wants you out of here as soon as possible," said Jax, grimacing as Prim examined his wound.

"It's possible once I finish taking care of you."

"Get her moving, Jax—" began Crewe, but Katniss intervened.

"Let her stay until she's done."

The tributes broke off into pairs and since the elevators could fit up to six of them at once, they filed up at the doors to await their turn.

"ETA to arena?" asked Praxis on the universal frequency.

"We're approaching the site now," said Gerrod. "We'll be able to start the airlift within minutes."

Haymitch and Katniss watched on the screen as Prim secured a wad of gauze around Jax's wound and then helped him to his feet to where Shale was sitting, tightly bound, but no longer fighting to get free. Jax used a spear from the Cornucopia as a staff and leaned against it for support before sending Prim to the lifts. The youngest Bender was quite pale now with the blood he had lost, but he was still alert, cupping his hand around his earpiece so as not to miss a thing.

"We have a visual," said Crewe. "Lowering the ladders now."

From the hovercraft's cameras, Haymitch watched Kao and Silica go down with the ladders to greet the tributes on the ten foot by twelve foot piece of metal that served as the roof where the lifts came out. One by one the two of them helped the tributes to board, giving a visual count to ensure that they didn't leave anyone behind. At the count of twenty, Kao and Silica set a small explosive that blasted the lift so that the platform dropped back down to base level. From above in the hovercraft, Gerrod threw down a rope, which Kao took, hooked to himself, and then lowered himself down with.

At the Cornucopia, Jax was starting to keel over, but then Kao appeared, hauling Shale to her feet with his one hand and marching her to the rope which he secured around her waist before attaching Jax to it with a harness and a clip. Once he had hooked himself back up to the rope, Kao gave three sharp tugs and the rope began to reel backwards on its spindle, hoisting the three up towards the surface where Silica and Prim were stepping onto the ladder as the last two on the platform.

Gerrod pulled Shale in first since she was at the top and set up a guard beside her that consisted of Crewe, Willem, and the girl from District 4. Silica reached for Jax and gently lowered him to the ground as Gerrod stuck out his hand to grab Kao's.

Another detonation shook the arena, one that was in no way related to the rebel hovercraft. The forcefield sky rippled and then pieces of the dome began to fall away.

"Snow told the Peacekeepers to destroy the arena so none of the tributes could survive," said Cyan, aghast. "He may not know what's going on yet, but he suspected that we would try to rescue the tributes, so that's where he sent his pilots."

"Let's hope he sent all of them in so that he can't be lifted out in an emergency hovercraft to his secret bunker," said Flax.

"That's taken care of," said Niles. "Praxis had teams hit their aircrafts first thing. Snow's not going anywhere."

A second explosion was followed by the sound of an enemy aircraft flying in to shoot the rebels out of the artificial sky. The pilot of the rebel hovercraft turned towards the enemy plane and fired two missiles so that the bomber plane combusted and crashed into the ocean below. "They're bombing the arena, we need to take off now!" shouted the pilot.

"Kao!" Silica hollered, leaning out into the open to see Kao now at least twenty feet down the rope, having been thrown back out when the second explosion hit. He was dangling by the rope around his middle and struggling to get himself upright as the downdraft from the hovercraft and the gust of heated wind from the explosions set him spiraling in circles.

"We have to leave _now_!"

"Not until my brother's inside!" Jax argued. "Reel him in!"

"It's jammed," said Gerrod, motioning at the smoking spindle.

"He's throwing us off balance! We're going down!" the pilot screeched as the hovercraft began to sink in the air while Kao spun uselessly below it, unwillingly bringing down the entire thing.

"Pull him up!"

Jax grabbed the rope, putting his full weight behind it to hoist his brother up, but for all of his strength, and even the strength of all the tributes combined if they had cared to try, the hovercraft would smash into the ocean before they could get Kao aboard. Another enemy aircraft flew in and shot at the rebels' underbelly.

"We're hit!"

"Kao!" Jax and Silica screamed.

It was difficult to make out, but Haymitch could see Kao bite his lip, eyes settled on his siblings above, and then with the blade that replaced his hand, he sliced through the rope.

"_NO!"_

Silica had to hold Jax around the middle with the assistance of Gerrod and a rebel to prevent him from jumping out of the hovercraft to go after his brother. Kao's camera was disrupted as it hit the water and both his earpiece and microphone went dead, but from the hovercraft's perspective, Haymitch could still see him bobbing up and down in the water as the arena began to rain down on him.

"KAO!"

"Take off," Silica ordered, tears streaming down her face as she watched Kao disappear under the waves triggered by the explosions while the rest of the arena collapsed around them and fell away into the water below.


	19. Chapter 19: A Victor's Nightmare

"Kao Bender is KIA," said Crewe, and then the feed from the arena cut out.

Haymitch's team sat in stunned silence, but then the door burst open and the two Peackeepers that had been patrolling the halls earlier stood there, guns lifting to fire. Cyan stood up first and shot the front Peacekeeper through the helmet, shattering the protective tinted glass that acted as a visor. Flax and Katniss prepared to shoot down the second as Haymitch went for the specialized knife Beetee had made for him, but the man dropped his weapon and removed his helmet, an ultimate sign of surrender since Peacekeepers were instructed to never reveal their faces while on duty.

The man had blue eyes that were nearly white and a pointed face, but besides these harsh features, he looked quite normal for a Peacekeeper. Flax took his weapon and ordered him to step inside the room and close the door behind him. The Peacekeeper knelt with his hands atop his head as Niles searched him for additional weapons.

"You're rebels, aren't you?" asked the Peacekeeper, but then he recognized Haymitch and Katniss. "How—"

"Where's the nearest Peacekeeper bunker?" asked Niles.

"Why, so you can blow it up with unarmed men and women inside?" asked the Peacekeeper.

"Something like that."

"I can't tell you."

Flax dug his pistol into the Peacekeeper's forehead. "How about now?"

"I can't tell you," the man repeated. "It's my sworn duty to protect lives and though I can't stop the killings happening around the city, I can try to prevent more by your hands by not telling you where the bunker is."

"Your name," demanded Haymitch.

"Bacchus."

"Do you have family, Bacchus?"

"Yes, I do," said Bacchus in a tight, emotion-filled voice as he swallowed hard. "They're in District Three."

"Then they're safe. If you want to see them again, you'll do the smart thing and not take up arms against the rebels."

Flax pistol whipped Bacchus across the back of the head and then dragged him into the bathroom. "When he wakes up, hopefully he'll have the sense to get out of those clothes and make his way back to his family."

"Should we take his gun?" Katniss wondered aloud.

"No," said Niles. "That was the face of a man who wanted to live and he wouldn't risk that by joining the Peacekeepers once he regains consciousness. He stands for honesty and loyalty, and he'll need his weapon. Leave it here."

They gathered up their weapons, making sure to leave no telltale sign of their presence behind—apart from the unconscious Peacekeeper in the bathroom. Once out on the street with smoke billowing up into the sky from various detonations, Niles positioned his camera so that it captured both Haymitch and Katniss. He counted down on his fingers from five and then pointed to signify that they were live, projected on the emergency broadcast with Beetee's help as the District Three genius transferred the feed Niles was giving him into an announcement for all of Panem to see.

"My name is Katniss Everdeen," said Katniss. "I was rescued from the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games, written off as dead to throw President Snow off of the scent. I was rescued by District Thirteen where an uprising has been brewing to free the citizens of Panem from the tyranny of the Capitol. I stand in the Capitol now, preparing to join the other rebels in rising up against the people who have oppressed us. Join me in my fight."

"You all know my name," said Haymitch, taking his cue from Niles once Katniss had finished. "You heard from Snow that I was killed on my train ride home after winning the Third Quarter Quell. I, too, was rescued, taken to Thirteen, and trained to battle the Capitol because of the lies they weave to deceive us all and the ruthless ends they go to in order to keep us all contained. They mock the fallen and those who they thought had died like myself and Katniss by rigging the Reapings so that Primrose Everdeen would be chosen. Lies to make us submit, force to make us forget. Enough is enough. You remember what the fallen victor Denno said right before he killed himself so that I could live. He knew that I could do something that he couldn't, and that's rally the districts. It was Denno who said, 'United, we were a force to be reckoned with'. And we are. Unite now and fight back."

"That's it, we have to get moving now," said Niles, killing the feed and leading the team on.

Haymitch nodded to Katniss. Their instructions from Praxis had been to simply rally the districts, say anything that came to mind that could invoke a sense of unity in the people. Unscripted, Haymitch's words had poured out like they had during his last interview with Caesar before the fateful train ride home where Praxis liberated him. Haymitch was the first one to speak uncensored to the nation, so it was only fitting that he say whatever he thought would work this time.

As they moved into a block where citizens were screaming and darting into the street, gunfire erupted above them and all of them dropped, scanning the area ahead, but judging by the positioning of the bullets in the concrete walls above him, Haymitch knew that the shots had come from a higher altitude.

"On the roof!" he shouted to his team.

Carrying the heavy artillery, Cyan positioned himself so that he could send an RPG onto the roof and let the missile fly, blasting the Peacekeepers at least twenty feet into the air so that some of them fell to their deaths in broken heaps on the street below. Niles gave them the all-clear so that they could continue moving, but then they caught sight of movement from a half blown-in café and went into firing formation.

"Friendlies!" called someone from within the café. "Gold Team One!"

It was Praxis.

"Blue Team Seven," responded Niles as they all lowered their weapons and ran across the street to enter the relative safety of the café. Saluting Praxis, Niles gave a brief update, ending with Kao's sacrifice.

"We saw that," said Slone, his eyes rather bloodshot. Haymitch noticed a major dent in his shield which he carried across his back.

"With all due respect, sir, why are you in this sector of the city?" asked Niles. "You were supposed to take out the northern quadrants with Gold Teams Two and Three and you're all the way down southwest with us."

"Unforeseen circumstances," said Bastian bitterly. "We were forced to divert last night when trying to get into position because of a parade crossing. Gold Team Four has replaced us until we can move inward towards the City Circle and Snow's mansion."

Haymitch added himself to his team of five and saw that including Slone and Bastian, Axle, Farler, and Glaze were with Praxis, making a twelve-person team, which would be better for taking the offense, but difficult to conceal if they needed to hide quickly.

"I'll send out a universal message and then we'll start moving," said Praxis. "Take five, soldiers."

"So did you know that Prestige was going to use that angle?" Farler asked Glaze conversationally, ripping into his dried beef strips with his teeth.

"She didn't tell me what it would be, but I had already told her and Fleece about the rebellion," said Glaze, gnawing on the inside of his mouth as if there was a bad taste that had settled there. "After I told her, she just laughed and called me a liar, but when I became curt with her, she realized that I was being serious. Instead of agreeing to help, she threatened to expose me and the rest of the tributes to Snow during the interviews unless I let her play the way she wanted to. Afterwards, before I left the District One floor, she cornered me and—" Glaze tugged uncomfortably at the collar around his neck and unbuttoned his shirt slightly to allow himself breathing room.

"Did she come onto you?" questioned Flax matter-of-factly.

"That's one way of phrasing it. I told her that she would be receiving nothing from me and stormed out, but only because I felt safe doing so now that she wouldn't be able to announce the rebellion to the nation live."

"I think she genuinely believed that she had a chance with you. That was her driving motivator in winning, the reason why she was the only one who managed to draw blood before Jax killed her," said Haymitch.

"That's on me, not the boy," said Glaze. "I should have tried harder to change her mind, presented a stronger argument. I sent her bloodthirsty and hormone-raged into the arena, spurned and resented. She needed me to be more understanding, especially given that she came from an abusive background. She wanted attention from me because she saw me as a protector whereas her father had been much too familiar around her."

"Mental conditions are one thing you can't change or predict," said Stave knowledgeably. "Others have tried to help me contain my fits, but in the end, it depends on me, not the individuals helping me. Prestige was emotionally damaged and no amount of care on your part could have changed her lust."

"I've sent thirty-seven years' worth of children to their deaths, but this is the first time I feel that I truly failed with one," said Glaze, pulling a loose strand of hair dangling in front of his eyes.

"Oh, suck it up, One," said Axle coldly. "You and the Benders have had every opportunity and better odds to save your kids over the years. It's a known fact that the kids from One and Two stand better chances of winning every year and your victor pool is bigger than anyone else's. Beetee's the last victor from Three, there's that half-mad woman Annie from Four, Slone from Six, Stave from Seven, me from Nine, Ezben from Ten, and Haymitch, Katniss, and Peeta from Twelve, and no one left in Five, Eight, and Eleven. Including you and the Benders, One and Two have at least six victors per district. You have better living conditions, lower mortality rates, and overall better everything, so don't sit there and complain that you feel you lost a horny slut who wouldn't believe the rebels existed if we pointed a damn pistol in her face."

Glaze was on his feet, drawing his twin swords and Axle put his hand on the staff of his customized retractable double-sided spear. "Go ahead, Blazing Glaze, I'll knock you on your ass."

"Of all the victors still alive, you deserve the title least," said Glaze through bared teeth.

"I'm so wounded by those words," said Axle sardonically.

"You have no idea what some of us went through in our arenas. The emotional and mental trauma—"

"You're right, old-timer, I don't. The killing didn't bother me at all and nothing those Gamemakers threw at me could rattle me because I was already hardened before I went into the arena. I didn't go to pieces like most of you or spend the last twenty plus years crying myself to sleep because of what happened when I saw a friend beheaded or watched my impending doom coming closer."

Haymitch had never considered Axle to be a friend before the Quarter Quell because the man was reclusive and just generally mean-hearted, but training with him in Thirteen had made Haymitch change his mind about his fellow victor. If a man with no friends, no family, and no positive personality could take part in their cause, that had to count for something, surely. However, after hearing Axle call out all the victors who had suffered in the arena like Stave, Katniss, and Haymitch as weaklings because they didn't relish the killings they did, Haymitch was on Glaze's side and wanted to punch Axle in his sour face.

"I enjoyed winning," Axle continued, "it showed my piece of shit deceased father that my killing him wasn't just chance. I killed that bastard two years before I went in because it was his third time trying to drunkenly throttle me in my sleep. So every time I killed in the arena, I proved to myself that I had earned my extra years of life and that killing my father wasn't me lucking out. And that's what I told all the kids I had to mentor and when _none_ of them ever came back, I just realized that they weren't meant for this world any longer than how long they'd lasted without starving or catching a pox. That's what you need to accept about your recently deceased floozy. She was the one in that whole batch that wasn't meant to live. The sooner you accept that, the easier it is to forget her, Blazing Glaze."

"If you call me that one more time—"

"Soldiers!"

Glaze and Axle stood to attention for Praxis, but Axle had a maniacal look on his face while Glaze's was beet-red and sweaty.

"Why are we in the Capitol right now, soldiers?" asked Praxis, frowning at the two of them. "Why are we here with weapons, preparing to take out our oppressors instead of watching twenty-four children murder each other on television?"

Either Glaze and Axle were too angry to provide Praxis with an answer, or they felt demoted to students in a classroom and were too embarrassed to answer.

"We are here because the time for the Capitol dividing us by districts and pitting us against one another is passed. Our differences, our backgrounds, and our lives have no meaning in how they separate us. It is how we are united that matters now and I won't have my soldiers fighting because of resentment that the Capitol built up. If you can't act accordingly, tell me now and I'll have a team come in to escort you back out to the camps. Decide."

Glaze put out his hand to Axle, though it was shaking. Axle took it.

"We're moving out," said Praxis. "Gold, mark left, Blue take right. Stick together."

They moved quickly up three or four blocks, following the sounds of running, panicking citizens. As Bastian moved them onto a side road, Praxis received a message from Alaida back in Thirteen who was overseeing the entire siege on various cameras. Bringing the teams to a halt, Praxis pressed a hand over his exposed ear to hear his daughter better.

"Friendly fire to the south," Praxis relayed. "I say again, hold your fire to the south."

Several small groups of rebels ran out onto the street ahead of them. Praxis motioned that they all should join the throng so that it would be easier to take the next couple of streets. He was patched through on his comunicuff to one of the leaders of the oncoming teams as Haymitch's companions closed the distance.

Suddenly, gunfire erupted up and down the street and from the roof, a band of Peacekeepers were hurtling small explosives into the path of the oncoming rebels. One went off extremely close to Stave who was launched into the air a good ten feet and crash landed out in the open section of no-man's land between two sets of battling complexes with the rebels to the left and the Peacekeepers on the right. Stave sat up, but starting smacking his head against the remains of what had once been a sculpture of Snow. He shouted nonsense, rocking back and forth with his weapon tangled among his ankles.

"Someone get him!" ordered Praxis who was too heavily pinned down amidst a clump of potted plants.

Running low to get to Stave without being shot, Axle and Glaze reached him and threw a smoke grenade to hide them as they made a retreat. They each grabbed one of Stave's arms and dragged him backwards, firing their guns into the windows as they went so that the musical sounds of glass tinkling onto the cobblestone ground mixed into the soundtrack of gunshots and screams. Slone used his shield to cover Glaze as he went the last few feet to duck behind the cover of an overturned Peacekeeper car with Stave in tow when a lone gunshot rang out and Axle's head made a violent backwards jerk as a bullet went through his jaw and out the back of his head. He was dead before his knees hit the ground.

Haymitch fired back into the smoke, refusing to linger on Axle like he had with Kao, with Ven, and with Renner. In war, people died, and it was no different from the arena. If Haymitch could place himself in the mindset of his arena-self, he could accept death as it came instead of being thrown into a world of uncertainty and sorrow every time one of his comrades fell. And besides, from the last victor of Nine's own words, Axle was not meant to live to see the success or failure of the rebellion. It was his place to die in this street.

_That's bullshit._

Haymitch continued to fire, but saw Glaze dragging Axle by the arm and setting him in the alley, out of further harm's way.

Stave gave a scream of agony and snatched up Axle's gun, standing to fire aimlessly into the smoke while advancing. Katniss jumped in beside him and fired one of her explosive arrows which caught something filled with gasoline, for it triggered an even bigger explosion and the combined teams stole forward, but behind Stave who seemed to have either mastered his mental fits or was completely devastated by the loss of Axle that he thirsted for blood-filled revenge.

"Hold!" commanded Praxis. When Stave continued to shoot, he had to shout even louder, "Hold, dammit!"

"Do you smell that?" asked Katniss, wrinkling her nose. "Something's burning."

With the explosion, Haymitch was about to point out the obvious that _of course_ something was on fire, but then the putrid smell hit his nostrils. The thing that was burning was flesh.

"They've set the block on fire," said Praxis, peering out from behind his cover. "Glaze, isn't this your area of expertise?"

But both Glaze and Stave had their hands pressed over their eyes as if it would help to shield them from the fire. It made sense now, Glaze's demeanor slowly becoming unhinged during the interview at the mention of how he wiped out his remaining opponents by setting the plains on fire, the confrontation by Axle by repetitively using Glaze's nickname he earned in his Games, and now, fire flickering towards them with the scent of burning bodies in the air. What won Glaze his Games was what he feared most, what Axle had poked fun at, what haunted his nightmares.

"The street's coated with something that's making the fire spread," observed Farler. "We have to move."

"Duck left through that hat shop," suggested Bastian, pointing to the shop in question. "It has an exit onto the street behind."

One by one the team ran for the shop, providing cover fire once they were clear, but the flaming street was triggering panels hidden in the cobblestone that caused fireballs to hurtle towards them so that they had to dive and roll to avoid becoming torches. Haymitch took hold of Stave's hand and guided him across, for Stave's prior crazed personality was gone, replaced by the one that had earned him the restraint jacket in Thirteen. Once safely across, Haymitch signaled for the next soldier to make a run for it.

As second-to-last, Farler knew he had to escort Glaze across because the District One victor was cowering behind the car. Farler had Glaze by the arm when another fireball whistled through the air and Glaze shoved Farler into the fountain in front of him as the fireball hit him in the chest. Instantly, his clothes were set ablaze, rippling across his stomach, his shoulders, his legs, until he was a fiery, screaming human outline. Soaked and moving slowly under the weight of the water, Farler grabbed Glaze bodily and fell back into the fountain to extinguish the flames, but even as they fell, Haymitch had a flashing image of Blazing Glaze, impaled upon his own sword in a sick twist of fate. Praxis, Slone, and Cyan fished Glaze out, but from over their shoulders, Haymitch could see that there would be no saving him. His skin was completely blistered through, charcoal black in other places and his face was all but recognizable.

"Nothing to be done," said Slone queasily. "We have to go."

"Glaze, we can't save you," said Farler, but Glaze's voice box had been damaged and all he could do was make a gargling sound as his body shook in uncontrollable spasms.

"Who's going to do it?" asked Cyan heavily.

"I will," said Haymitch. He didn't need to add, but he knew that everyone was thinking, _I'll do it because I have experience in killing friends_. Afraid to touch Glaze in case it caused him more pain, Haymitch positioned his knife at the back of Glaze's skull and stabbed inward. Glaze's head barely moved forward with the impact, but he went still and then Haymitch and the combined teams set him down in the fountains so that his body wouldn't be further consumed by the fire.

He didn't want to go any further because they had lost Axle and Glaze on the same block within minutes of each other and there was no telling what would happen to their team ahead where the chance of Capitol surprises mounted. Seeing the irreparable damage done to Glaze, hearing the sound he made in his throat, feeling those tremors…it was Sickle all over again. The flashback caught Haymitch off guard and he went down onto one knee, blocking out sound with his hands and clasping his eyes shut. He saw Sickle with one leg missing, his eyes filling with venom, his body jerking as it processed the poison eating away at his life. Haymitch saw Cobalt stick his knife almost gently into Sickle's head. Nearly an exact replica of his Games, right down to Haymitch reaching safety right before Sickle and now Glaze.

_"Sickle's dead, Haymitch, and you're not the one who killed him."_

"Haymitch?"

Just as she had been during his last relapse, Katniss was there at his elbow, guiding him back to reality. She made him stand and when he opened his eyes, he saw his enlarged team, minus two, watching him in concern and trying to get him to come out of his stupor as the shop they had originally tried to go through caught fire. On the verge of answering, Haymitch heard more gunfire behind them and turned to see one Peacekeeper trying to stop another from shooting at them, but when the second refused, the first shot his partner in the arm. The wounded Peacekeeper tried to fight back, but the first disarmed him and so the second one ran for it.

The remaining Peacekeeper took off his helmet and Haymitch saw the pointed face and blue-white eyes of Bacchus who gestured that they should all follow him.

"This way."


	20. Chapter 20: Unified

"Who's he?" asked Praxis suspiciously as Niles and Haymitch followed Bacchus to a hidden alley which they squeezed through just as the fire on the street they had just evacuated engulfed the stone basin that surrounded the fountain.

"An ally," responded Stave.

Ally. Allies. Teams. _Caesar._

How could Haymitch have forgotten Caesar? It was his responsibility to ensure that Caesar had made it to his team, yet the recent turn of events with Axle and Glaze had completely distracted him. He switched on his microphone as he and his team ran to catch up with Bacchus.

"Caesar, are you clear of the hotzone? Caesar?"

"Maybe his line got cut," suggested Niles. "Try to bring him up on the universal link."

"Red Team Two, do you have Soldier Flickerman?" said Praxis into his communicuff. After a moment, he shook his head. "Flickerman never met up with his team and never reported into a campsite, which means he's either hiding or dead."

"Or captured," added Flax.

"You are the most unhelpful little shit ever, do you know that?" said Cyan in exasperation. "Do you ever have anything positive to say?"

"No, but I try to make negative things sound positive by using a falsely cheery voice," said Flax. "For instance, we seem to have lost Bacchus."

"And we're at a dead end," said Praxis. "I knew it! I knew that this would happen—"

"Through here," called Bacchus, popping out of a liquor store and waving them through. Haymitch had to resist the urge to stuff his pack with everything within reach as he passed bottle upon bottle of every type of liquor imaginable. Sensing his weakness, Katniss shoved at the small of his back to keep him moving until they came out into a sector of the city where the rebels had engaged the Peackeepers in heavy fire while several pairs of them battled it out in hand-to-hand combat on the street. And there, out in the thick of things, was Crewe's team, fighting back to back and pressing outward. Gerrod was fending off three Peacekeepers at once by swinging his axe in wide circles while Crewe was sniping from a kneeling position. Silica barely seemed to touch her opponents with her curved knives, but as soon as she had swept by them, they fell with lines of paper-thin red sprouting from all over their bodies. A medic onboard the hovercraft must have stitched Jax up, or else the boy was completely ignoring his wounds, for he treated his spear point as much of a weapon as the other end, clotheslining his opponents, impaling them, and bashing in their faces with the butt end.

Praxis led the charge forward to help Crewe's team, hurtling another smoke grenade into the oncoming storm of Peacekeepers. Katniss sent an explosive arrow through the smoke and Haymitch could see limbs being blasted into oblivion as blood splattered out in all directions to paint the city a new color. With Farler keeping close by, Stave took measured shots, occasionally ducking behind a bit of cover to bite down on his weapon strap.

Bacchus clasped his hands together as if in prayer as he hid behind a mailbox and Bastian kicked at him.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"He'll help us, but he won't fight," said Haymitch.

"He has to fight to help us, that's how help works!"

"Leave him," said Niles.

Haymitch, Niles, and Bastian ran to Crewe and set up a four-point firing formation so that they could cover all sides as Flax and Slone cleared the way for Cyan with his RPG. The Peacekeepers dumped water on a band of rebels from above and then shot electric currents through the water, electrifying and frying the rebels. Too reminiscent of what had happened to Glaze minutes ago, the sight was one which Haymitch couldn't bring himself to watch. He looked away, towards the far end of the street.

A Peacekeeper went down as his opponent sideswiped his legs and delivered an unforgiving stab to the throat with the retractable blade from the end of the Peacekeeper's own baton. A second Peacekeeper kicked the man and went to club him over the head, but the man rolled, gained his feet, and barreled into the Peacekeeper. Haymitch saw the bald head, now wig-free, and the loose-fitting rebel uniform, and he cut loose from his formation. Caesar was struggling to free his knife from his boot as the Peacekeeper's superior strength started to win over, pressing a wicked-looking blade closer and closer to Caesar's throat.

"Caesar, cover!" Haymitch roared and just as he had in the simulation hundreds of times until Haymitch was satisfied that he could do it right, Caesar dropped. He stopped fighting back, stopped trying to hold back the Peacekeeper, and fell to the ground in front of his opponent, covering his head as Haymitch shot the Peacekeeper twice through the back and once in the head.

All at once, the fighting on the street stopped and the rebels called out to one another, sounding off that they were alive as well as reporting those missing, dying, or dead. Dusting himself off, Caesar stood up, straightened his jacket, and sniffed loudly to snort up the blood running out of his nose. "It's about damn time."

"Were you separated from your team? I couldn't raise you on my earpiece."

"I never made it to my team," said Caesar. "As soon as the studio went dark, I ran for the exit, but there were Peacekeepers blocking my way. I had to kill them both, but my microphone was damaged in the process, so I just kept my earpiece tuned in, hoping someone would give me further instructions. I saw my team at the rendezvous point, but security's heavy near the City Circle, and the entire team was incinerated from one of those devices the Capitol had installed post-Dark Days as a last line of defense against attackers. After that, I just ran for it: changed out of my suit, tore off my wig, and ran like hell."

"Blue Team Seven sound off," called Niles.

"Everdeen," called Katniss, retrieving arrows from a fallen rebel who specialized in archery like she did.

"Jerrick," said Cyan, tossing his now empty RPG launcher aside and scooping up a Peacekeeper gun to replace it.

"Who's got Stave?" asked Niles, looking around for their mentally handicapped teammate.

"He's here," said Bacchus, waving to them from Stave's latest cover, the body of a fallen rebel. Stave had managed to use the body as a shield and avoid gunfire, but he was curled into the fetal position and muttering to himself.

"I've got him," said Flax.

"Abernathy plus one," said Haymitch, coming in to join the mass of rebels congregating on the seal of Panem that decorated the street.

"Glad you could join us, Soldier Flickerman," said Praxis, unsmiling. "What happened to your team?"

"Prematurely cremated, commander," said Caesar. "And I'll be needing a new microphone."

"Who gave you authority to land and engage, Soldier Crewe?" asked Praxis, rounding on Crewe who was checking his remaining ammunition.

"The hovercraft deposited the tributes at Base," said Crewe. "But I radioed out to Stand-In Commander Septum and asked that she allow my team access back into the Capitol to assist in the fight. Soldier Bender was given medical treatment and came in with us."

Jax had been given proper rebel attire in place of his jumpsuit, but through the grime coating his face, Haymitch saw remnants of tear trails. The boy had no emotion left to give because regardless of what he had told Caesar during his interview, having to say goodbye to his brother was just as hard as he always imagined it would be.

"Jax, are you okay to continue, or do you want to return to camp?" asked Praxis, but Jax was unresponsive, watching the puddle of water as his feet trickle into the train with trails of blood mingling with the purity of it.

Silica nudged Jax who made eye contact with the commander and the same look of intensity he had falsely worn before the gong sounded was back on his face, but real in every sense of the word. The boy had made his first kill today, but it would not be his last. Only blood could satisfy his appetite for revenge on behalf of his brother. It was a feeling Haymitch knew all too well.

"I wish to stay with the team, commander," said Jax.

"Good man, Soldier Bender."

Praxis had them all take a count of what supplies they needed, which would be delivered in the morning, and then sent teams in their respective directions, but kept Blue Team Seven, Gold Team One, and Black Team Three together to scout ahead a few more blocks before settling into a blow-open bar for the night.

Katniss consoled with Jax and Silica, thanking them for her sister as the two Benders grieved for their brother. The rest of the teams found spots to camp on the floor and share their food kits with Caesar and Bacchus, both of whom actually knew each other.

"How is that you know this exact Peacekeeper?" asked Flax doubtfully.

"I helped him get his job guarding the studio a few years ago," said Caesar, cleaning blood from under his fingernails with his knife. "He was demoted, though, because of a scuffle with another Peacekeeper."

Caesar shook a cigarette out of a crushed-looking package and lit it from the spark feature on the gun he had taken from the Peacekeeper. He drew in deeply from it and then blew out, expelling a uniform cloud of green smoke.

"I didn't know you smoked," said Haymitch, watching in fascination. Since he had taken to the bottle and found that it drowned out his horrid memories of his first arena, he had never seen the appeal of smoking, but was still intrigued by the intricate patterns Caesar could make out of the slugs that were specifically designed so that it was possible to make the shapes.

"I don't," said Caesar, spitting and making a grimace. "But after what I saw today, I figured I needed this. Want one?"

"No, I'm good…though I wouldn't say no to a swig of some hard liquor right now."

"Can't help you there, soldier. And even if I could, our fearless leader has a strict zero tolerance policy while on duty."

"Didn't stop me," said Cyan quietly, showing them a bronze bottle that he had found at the back of the bar and handing it to Haymitch. "Bottoms up, Abernathy."

With the prohibition laws Praxis had put into effect in Thirteen, it had been a year to the day that Haymitch last had a drop of liquor. The morning of his second Games, he had gotten himself drunk, only to have his stylist Portia remedy him minutes before the Third Quarter Quell began. Having not touched the stuff for that long, Haymitch had nearly forgotten the taste, but the smell of it as he uncapped the lid and inhaled was enough to nearly make him drunk off the fumes.

"Oh, no you don't," said Katniss, holding out her hand for the bottle. "If you take one sip of that, you'll be gone and I'm not having any drunkards on my team, especially if it's you, Haymitch. Hand it over."

"It's not yours," said Haymitch.

"Cyan probably has a higher tolerance than you, but he shouldn't be drinking either. Either you give that bottle to me, or I report you to Praxis."

"You wouldn't," said Haymitch in mock horror, which actually got a chuckle out of Caesar who drew on his cigarette again.

"I will."

"If you won't let him have it, give it to me," said Cyan.

"I'd stash it away, the fearless leader's coming over here," said Caesar, billowing out a huge cloud of smoke to conceal Katniss in time for her to hide it.

"Soldier Flickerman, if you can't keep that smoke at a reasonable level, put the cigarette out."

"Aye, commander," said Caesar, making a swirling vortex with the smoke.

"We're going dark on communication through the night so that any prowling Peacekeepers can't lock onto us. We'll be in watches of two until dawn, starting with myself and Soldier Crewe. Jerrick, S. Bender, you're on at midnight. Abernathy and Flickerman, at three. Try to get some sleep, soldiers."

Caesar put out the cigarette on his knee and then set his pack upright against the bar so that he could use it as a pillow. "Well, I'll see you in the rotation, fellow soldier," he told Haymitch, and then went right to sleep.

"I don't believe it," said Haymitch as Katniss passed him a canteen. "He never once fell asleep so easily in Thirteen. It took him hours to even close his eyes and now he's out in four seconds."

"Maybe because he knows where the danger's coming from now," suggested Flax, rolling over to try and get some sleep himself.

Maybe it was true for Caesar, but it didn't help Haymitch to sleep any better and when he woke Caesar for their shared watch, his eyes were hurting from being open for so long. More than once Caesar poked him with the nozzle of his gun to make him alert. Haymitch even tried one of Caesar's cigarettes to amp up his body, but the thing only made him erupt into a fit of painful coughs so that Caesar had to thump him on the back repeatedly to clear his air passages. At five minutes to dawn, Haymitch dug his fingernails into his face, hoping that the pinch would keep him awake.

"Keep it together, Soldier Abernathy," said Caesar.

"Shove it up your ass."

Presently, there came a staticky voice from the universal link on Praxis's communicuff and both of them turned towards their commander. The voice tried again to say something and Haymitch shook Praxis awake.

"Someone's trying to get through to you."

With one eye open, Praxis hooked the cuff up to his microphone and earpiece, listening for a moment before slapping his forehead with his hand and standing up. "Copy that, Base, but under who the hell's authority was this order passed?"

"Hovercraft inbound," said Gerrod, pointing to the sky outside which had suddenly gone dark again as the craft lowered far enough for the ladders and poles to touch the ground. Nine soldiers deboarded, including one woman with an enormous belly that barely fit under her uniform.


	21. Chapter 21: The Last Hurdle

"No, no, no, no, _no_," said Caesar firmly. "Get back in that hovercraft, you are not going any further."

"I outrank you, Soldier Flickerman," said Meela, marching over to him and the others. "If anyone's giving orders here, it's me."

"And I outrank you, Soldier Roth," said Crewe, who had joined Caesar. "So I agree with Flickerman, you can't be here, and if you won't listen to me, you'll listen to Praxis."

"Then he'll have to have me dragged back to Base, because I'm not leaving."

If Caesar and Crewe were incensed, it was nothing compared to Praxis. "Soldier Roth, what in the hell do you think you're doing? I gave strict orders to my daughter to not allow any unfit soldiers to leave Thirteen, so you tell me how it is you managed to get here despite lockdown and protocol!"

Meela would have answered, had a missile not shot the hovercraft out of the air at that exact moment.

"Cover!" Praxis hollered.

At least three of the new soldiers were smashed underneath the bulk of the hovercraft. Katniss was closest to Haymitch and he fell on top of her to protect her from the flames and fragments of hovercraft shooting down at them as Crewe took up the same position over Meela and Caesar dropped beside them. Once rubble had stopped raining from above, Haymitch felt something burning down the back of his shirt and rolled off of Katniss, shaking his uniform to rid it of the stray piece of debris that had somehow fallen down in there.

"We're under fire, two o'clock!"

In the position Niles pointed, Haymitch saw Peacekeepers dotting the roof. It was too far for any of the scatter guns they had, but maybe Katniss's arrows could make it. Haymitch motioned at the Peacekeepers and Katniss nodded, but when she attempted to rise, bullets kept her pinned down.

"We need to provide some cover fire," said Haymitch. "On my mark, everyone fire at that roof. Ready…now!"

As one, the three teams and remaining additional soldiers shot at the roof as Katniss stood up, took aim, and let loose one of her explosive arrows that had a short delay, but then blew up every occupant on top of the roof.

"Move out!"

They ran single file with Praxis, Bastian, and Bacchus leading since the latter two knew the city well to help guide Praxis towards the City Circle. For a pregnant woman, Meela was doing an incredible job of keeping up with them, but Haymitch was concerned that the vigorous activity had caused her to already lose the babies. The thought had evidently occurred to Crewe and Caesar as well, for they called Praxis to a halt to ask him for an air evac.

"We can't lose another hovercraft just to lift a pregnant soldier out of here," said Praxis. "I can't risk so many resources for one person, especially if that person deliberately put themselves in this situation."

"I can keep up," said Meela. "I passed the simulations with a better score than anyone else here. Just because I have babies inside me doesn't mean I'm useless."

"But if you die, so do they," Crewe reasoned. "I'll volunteer to stay behind with her until the rebels clear the area, commander."

"We can't waste the manpower. You still have a team to lead—"

"What, all three of them?" Crewe challenged. "A victor, a second-in-command, and boy who's on his feet less than a day after he was stabbed? They don't need me; Meela does and she can't continue."

"You _will_ continue to lead your team, soldier, or I will have you arrested for insubordination. The war isn't going to come to a stand-still for a pregnant woman! Sort your priorities, or prepare yourself for a life behind bars."

"Crewe, don't be stupid," said Meela. "I told you I can handle myself and I can. We keep going."

"You're going to get yourself killed!" Crewe snapped back at her and at this point Haymitch could tell that he wasn't play-acting his concern for her. He may not be the father of her unborn children, but he was her best friend and the fact that she was here and not back in Thirteen had him fuming beyond measure.

"Guys, this is not the time to argue," said Flax, turning his head to the south. "Do you hear that?"

It was indistinct at first, but as the seconds dragged by and the noise ordinance died out, Haymitch heard it. Animalistic roars. No domesticated animal sounded like that; whatever was coming their way, it was feral, or more likely, mutts unleashed from one of those Dark Day traps Caesar had mentioned.

Waiting a second or two more allowed them to see the mutated forms coming their way and allowed them to put on a double burst of speed to outrun the beasts.

They were definitely mutts, half-human, half…something else, but they had mottled grey and brown fur and claws the size of Haymitch's head. Unlike animals, however, they could run on two legs and they were gaining. Praxis had everyone with a gun stand abreast and shoot until their clip ran empty before peeling off to run, reload, and wait for his signal to make another stand further down the street. Haymitch was third to last with Caesar and Niles behind him and Katniss in front of him. When she tapped his arm to let him know that she was taking off and that he should follow shortly after, he hoped that he saw the mutts dwindling in numbers. He touched Caesar's arm as he turned and ran. When Caesar and Niles leveled with him, all three of them put new clips in their weapons and fired blindly over their shoulders.

Of all of them, Flax was the fastest runner and Farler the slowest, but the two were best friends, so while Flax remained behind to give Farler time to run for it, one of the last mutts latched onto his arm and bit down to the bone. Flax tried to shake the thing off, but the incredible jaws clamped around his arm were more powerful than his entire body. He punched the mutt in the nose to no effect and then was lifted into the air by his arm alone.

Cyan cut the mutt's legs out from under it and drove his sword through the thing's head so that its teeth released Flax and the latter dropped, nursing his arm. Haymitch saw that he had at least ten bullets left in his clip and ran back in to use them, but Caesar drew his attention instead.

"Run, Haymitch!" Caesar yelled, firing into the mutts while running backwards.

A mutt grabbed Cyan over the shoulder, ripping five long shreds through his skin before it spun him around and with one swipe, opened him up from hip to hip. Cyan screamed, falling to his knees as the mutt went in to rip his head from his neck. Jax launched his spear at the mutt which took it through the face and made it fly back a good ten feet. The boy went to retrieve his weapon and Haymitch walked slowly, almost dreamlike towards Cyan who was crying for his brother as his intestines spilled out of his middle and onto the pavement.

All Haymitch could think of as he saw Cyan lying in his own innards was how similar he looked dying to Cobalt. Their mouths gaped in the same way, their eyes had the same squinted look, their feet hammered the ground in complete agony. Haymitch found that his knife was in his hand without ever remembering pulling it out and he took a step towards Cyan, prepared to perform the same act of mercy as he had for Glaze.

But the bullet that blew out Cyan's brains came from Caesar's gun. "Keep moving," he told Haymitch tonelessly as he helped Flax up by his good arm.

Way in the front, Bastian and Bacchus were alternating the lead position as they sprinted from street to street, letting the other take charge depending on who was closer to the street they needed to get to. Just slightly ahead of Haymitch, Gerrod didn't see the Peacekeeper coming at him from behind the cover of a street vendor shop. Meela put a round in the Peacekeeper's helmet and continued on without missing a step. She sounded like she was on the verge of collapsing due to her shallow breath from trying to supply air for her babies.

"Slow it down," said Crewe, taking notice.

Veering off of the main path to take temporary shelter inside a hotel lobby, Praxis did a head count and his face fell. "Where's Cyan?"

"Mutts got him," said Caesar, offering Meela the rest of the water from his canteen.

"We're losing too many people," said Katniss. "That's three in less than twenty-four hours—"

"That's war, Katniss," said Haymitch.

"This is just like the Games, trying to get to the high ground while everyone dies around you in a bloodbath."

Haymitch knew she hadn't meant for it to sound as bad as it did, but the effect her words had on the other victors, Jax, and himself was instantaneous. Silica bowed her head in memoriam for her brother and Jax put his arm around her, glaring around at them as if daring them to call her out in her moment of weakness.

"We aren't going to save anymore lives by sitting here," said Slone, absentmindedly running his fingers over the bullet holes in his shield. "How far is it to the City Circle?"

"I'd say roughly two blocks forward, unless we're diverted, then we'll have to go by way of the canal," said Bacchus. "But we're about to enter the hot zone, so if you have other teams in position, I'd let them know that you're coming in from the southwest."

Praxis relayed the orders to hold fire and then brought out his map to show the rest of them.

"We're approximately here, if our Capitol escorts are correct," he pointed out their location. "Teams have taken the buildings north, east, and southeast of the City Circle and set up field infirmaries. That's where Soldier Roth will cut out once we're in sight."

"And you," said Farler, nodding at Flax's maimed arm.

"Flesh wound," said Flax indifferently.

"No, you'll be getting that taken care of before you engage in anymore combat, soldier," said Praxis. "As will you, Stave. You've had too many reversions to not consider it a problem, so you'll have to remain in the buildings. The rest of us will restock on supplies and then proceed on and be reassigned into squads who'll concentrate on specific sectors of the Circle."

"Any word on where Snow is?" Stave questioned, seemingly unbothered by being taken off of the battlefield.

"As soon as the Games shut off, he retreated into his mansion and there've been lookouts posted around the clock to see if he tried to sneak out."

"He could have made it to his bunker," Bastian suggested.

"That was one of the first locations our people destroyed. Snow has two options now; wait for us to come to him, or commit suicide."

"I don't care if he does either—"

There came a rattling on the pavement outside and Niles cried out for everyone to hit the deck. The handheld grenade exploded just outside the lobby, caving in the front so that they were trapped inside and already at a danger of breathing too much dust as they were plunged into complete darkness. Crewe managed to find his flashlight and lit up the close, muggy air.

"Side entrance, side entrance!" coughed Bacchus.

With a hand on the person in front of them, they followed Bacchus to the entrance just behind the concierge's desk. As they went, it was Farler who asked the question that was on all of their minds: _How do they keep finding us?_

"Do you think they have us bugged?" wondered Gerrod.

"Impossible. They may be able to hack into our frequencies, but they can't have put any devices on us."

"They'll be firing at us as soon as we exit the building," said Niles.

"Then we'll go left once we hit the street and head north again as soon as we get a chance, which should be just one street over," said Bacchus.

"We need some cover. Who has a smoke grenade?"

Slone offered up his last one and tossed it into the street where it blew up, shooting bright yellow gas in all directions. Sure enough, they heard the gunfire as they pressed themselves against the building and moved to the left. By the time the last person had cleared the hotel, the gas was gone, but no sooner had they reached the next street over that more gunfire followed them. They drew together, returning fire and moving as a unit away from the onslaught.

One bullet found its mark in Silica's calf muscle and she yelped, tripping over herself and nearly taking out Praxis in the process. Still jogging, Jax and Slone grabbed her when another bullet made Bacchus drop as it passed through his shoulder blade. Half of the group paused to run back and help him, but he was already staggering upright.

"Don't stop!" Bacchus ordered. "Caesar, Bastian, you know where to go from h—"

A jetsream of water knocked Bacchus off of his feet, pinning him down with its weight as Peacekeepers advanced on the team, wielding a fire hose. Bacchus tried to stand, but a Peacekeeper used her electric baton to volt the water and Bacchus suddenly went stiff, screaming in clipped octaves as his body absorbed every single crackle of energy.

Katniss looked like she was going to be sick as she watched Bacchus's body still flopping around like a struggling fish even though he was dead. Haymitch steered her away.

"Don't watch—"

"Missile!" Niles thundered and Haymitch elbowed Katniss aside just in time to be launched like a projectile as the missile hit the ground behind him. He skidded quite a distance on the cobblestone, cutting his chin and chest as his uniform ripped open so that his skin burned against the bare stone.

He heard ringing as the pavement flew up to smack him in the face and he struggled to find some sense of equilibrium. He put up his hand, waiting for someone, anyone to take it. Praxis began to drag him by the sleeve towards the others who were retreating into a thicker block of buildings. Before he had completely gotten back his senses, Haymitch found himself being shoved by the commander.

"Keep going!" Praxis hollered, stopping in the middle of the street to blast through the wall of Peacekeepers. His automatic jammed and he threw it aside, taking out his pistol to replace it as a bullet went through his arm. The commander kept firing as another went through his thigh. He reloaded and got off an additional two shots before the Peackeepers sprayed him with bullets and after his body stopped its reactionary dance of death from the impact of so many projectiles hitting him at once, his body crumpled.

"Haymitch, come _on_!" shouted Flax, tugging at Haymitch's arm.

"This is Soldier Abernathy," said Haymitch into his microphone as he found his voice, switching to the universal link. "Commander Septum is KIA. Battlefield command transferred to Soldier Holbrook. Base command transferred back to Thirteen."


	22. Chapter 22: The Fire

The gunfire had ceased once the team passed into a circular position of buildings that extended at least eighteen stories upwards on all sides. Another fountain, this one in working order, spewed out water from the wings of the Capitol's seal and the team filled their canteens in it, splashing some over their wounds to soothe burn marks and cuts. Haymitch sat down on the edging of the fountain and put his face in his hands, and only then did he realize that he had been grazed in the shootout with Praxis and the Peacekeepers so that blood trickled down behind his right ear, soaking the side of his beanie.

Niles popped open their medical kit beside him and used a ripped piece of his uniform to act as a rag for sopping up the blood with water from the fountain. He taped a piece of gauze to Haymitch's wound, wrung out the beanie, and handed it back to him without a word.

"What's our next move, commander?" asked Haymitch to let Niles know that someone had to take the lead now, and that others would be watching him for guidance.

"We assess the damage and move on," said Niles. "The plan was to get to the City Circle and that's where we're going. Be ready, soldier, we move out in five."

As Niles went among the others, administering medication where needed, Haymitch watched Caesar and Meela clearing the jams from their weapons and doing a count of how many rounds they had left. Caesar's nose bleed from the previous day had started again and Meela had developed a shuddering, hacking cough, but neither of them said a word to each other as they worked. What must it be like, Haymitch wondered, to have the woman bearing your children carrying a gun beside you, knowing that at any moment, she or you could be killed, and there wasn't a damn thing either of you could do about it because she loved you too much to sit on the sidelines while you fought for your life.

Haymitch didn't know that feeling, nor did he ever want to. He refused to let a woman into his life in such a manner as he had when Snow killed his girlfriend. She had had her life snuffed out just because she loved Haymitch. He couldn't put anyone through that again, which was why it was so much easier to block people off and prevent anyone from getting too close to him. If the rebels lost the war, anyone remotely connected with Haymitch would be killed, but if they won…_if _they won…

A future was possible, but Haymitch didn't know if he would ever be ready to start a family, especially since he possessed none of the physical, mental, or emotional patriarchal abilities to perform as a father and a husband. But then again, after spending months with Caesar Flickerman, he would have said the same thing about his fellow soldier, only here Caesar was, acting as much like a father and a husband as the situation allowed.

"On your feet, people, we're moving," said Niles, heading towards the north exit.

It happened without warning. The entire set of buildings began to shift inward, blocking off the exits so that anyone remaining in the center would be trapped.

"Run, get out!" cried Niles, directing his troops to the closest exit which was at least ten yards from where Haymitch was standing but regardless of the distance, Haymitch sprinted for the opening.

Flax made to run when a lone gunman from way up in the buildings fired down on them and the bullet tore across Flax's chest. In reaction, his gun went off and he lost his balance. Caesar went back for him, which brought Haymitch to a halt.

"Haymitch, what are you doing?" shrieked Katniss, standing in the rapidly closing exit with her hand extended to him.

"Katniss, go," said Haymitch, surprising himself at how calm he sounded, but when she continued to stare at him with the buildings closing in on her, he fired at her feet. "Keep going! Get out of here, go!"

She ran after the remainder of their team, squeezing through the opening with Slone pulling on her arm, and then the buildings sealed off with a coating of dust and a low, rumbling groan that made the ground shudder. Flax was on his feet and wincing, but it made little difference because there was nowhere to go. Inside the trap with Haymitch was Caesar, Crewe, Flax, and Meela, and besides Flax, none of them were what Haymitch would consider good hand-to-hand combatants so that if they were rushed at this very moment, their chances of survival were close to none.

The air was eerily stale inside this closed-off section and all the outside noise that had been thunderous moments ago had suddenly been muted as if switched off with a remote. Then, despite the relative warmth of the mid-summer's day, Haymitch saw his breath rising on the air. Something unnatural had to be coming and though they had no way to prepare for it, they all faced outward, guns held in their dominant hands as their nondominants gripped their secondary weapons.

Haymitch heard them before he saw them, their breaths echoing down into this pit of cold nothingness as they threw open the windows above and leaned out to take aim. He pulled at Caesar's pant leg as he went down and Flax had the good sense to knock Crewe off of his feet—but no one was within reach of Meela.

"Meela, get down!" Crewe roared, and as she turned on the spot, bullets riddled her body.

Caesar let out an inhumane cry as he watched her knees buckle and at the last second, she was able to rotate her body so that she landed on her back. She gave a few garbled chokes as Caesar ran to her, throwing his weapon aside and lifting her head into his lap.

Flax and Crewe returned fire while Caesar tried to revive Meela in mouth to mouth resuscitation. Hidden panels on their level opened, spewing out more Peacekeepers and as his friends mowed down row after row of the bastards with their remaining bullets, Haymitch shot a Peacekeeper through the ear with his last round. Now at the mercy of the weapons Beetee foresaw Haymitch needing, he pulled them from his belt and at his touch, his sword and knife sprang out from their compartments. He sliced down across another Peacekeeper's chest so that blood shot out and drenched Haymitch's pants. He was feet from Caesar when several sets of hands pulled him down and wrenched his weapons away, securing his hands behind him with quickly knotted rope.

"Cease fire!" one of them was shouting. "The president wants them alive!"

The white gloves closed around Caesar who was screaming for Meela, in far too much agony to make the signal or say the words that would activate his cuff. Haymitch had to get to him to end it before Snow could have Caesar tortured, but the Peacekeepers knocked Haymitch over the head as he continued to resist and stuffed a wadded material into his mouth to prevent him from speaking while a hood was dragged over his head. Despite the gag stuffed in his mouth and the hood blinding him, he could still make the Mockingjay signal himself to activate his cuff. But even as the thought went through his head, a Peacekeeper ripped the cuff from Haymitch's wrist.

Haymitch's knees hit every stone on the sidewalk until he was bruised and bleeding. He heard a commotion ahead of him and the Peacekeepers redirected their path until Haymitch felt the floor beneath him moving and concluded that they were in a truck, heading where, he didn't know.

_The president wants them alive._

So, Snow had given the order for Haymitch and Katniss to be captured alive to be made examples of, but what about Caesar, Flax, and Crewe? It would be a shock to the nation to see Caesar betray the Capitol, but he couldn't talk himself out of this one, not when he was wearing a rebel's uniform and could probably be spotted on camera killing Peacekeepers with no remorse. What value, then, did Flax and Crewe hold?

Once the truck stopped moving, Haymitch was hauled to his feet and made to walk between the Peacekeepers up several flights of stairs, through what seemed like endless hallways, until finally, he heard a door open. The hood was ripped off of his head and the gag pulled out of his mouth, then he saw that the other three had indeed survived to this point while Meela's body had been left behind. The four of them were thrown unceremoniously into the room, one atop the other and Haymitch was unlucky enough to be on the bottom of that pile. Without the full use of their arms and hands, the others did the best they could to roll off of him, though they only succeeded in pushing the breath right out of him so that when they were finally off, he could only lay there and try to suck in oxygen. All of them had had their cuffs removed, Haymitch saw.

Crewe was the first to recover which meant that he sat upright and got a look at the room around them.

"It must be Snow's mansion," he said, sounding bored, though the lack of emotion stemmed from the fact that he was hollow inside, having witnessed the murder of his best friend. In the final scuffle, a Peacekeeper had cut him across the head so that red seeped down into his eyebrows and onto his nose so that he looked like he was wearing war paint.

"Caesar, is it Snow's m—"

Haymitch never finished asking, for Caesar, in a state of panic and madness, had stood up and made a go at the window, smashing into it with his head so that glass cut up razor thin lines across the back of it and with no wig to protect his skin, his bald head was soon covered in blood.

"Someone stop him before the Peacekeepers come back," said Crewe, but the doors were already opening to admit four Peacekeepers who threw Caesar to the floor and began to beat him savagely with their batons. Flax tripped one with his outstretched legs, which only earned him a brutal beating of his own in which Haymitch could practically hear his rib bones snap.

"The next one of you who tries any of that shit again will get two bullets in the knee and one in the shoulder," warned the Head Peacekeeper, and stormed back out.

"What did you think that was going to accomplish?" Crewe raged at Caesar. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"I'm not going through that again," said Caesar, revealing his face so that they could see that after so many hits, his nose had finally snapped. "I can't."

"Go through what?"

"You won't have to," said Haymitch. He realized the truth of it once he saw that they had arrived at the mansion and not some underground facility where no one could hear them scream. "Snow doesn't care about Flax and Crewe, and with you, he knows that there's no use in holding you or torturing you to get to someone on the outside, because who would sacrifice the rebellion for Caesar Flickerman? If anyone's going to have to endure it, it's me. Snow will use me to make Katniss surrender, or fall back. But not you three. He'll just have you executed."

"When?"

"Today, live, I'd guess," said Flax, biting his lip so hard that he drew blood. "They didn't catch the Mockingjay, but they got the Fire, and they'll want to publicize it. People were rallying to Haymitch more than Katniss because she didn't know that she was stirring up a rebellion, whereas Haymitch knew exactly what sort of consequences would come about from his actions. His death will impact the rebels more. Their commander is dead and the Fire is about to be extinguished on live television."

"So, what's left for us to do?" questioned Crewe.

"Snow will want to show that the rebels are being eliminated, so say whatever you want if something comes to mind. Just don't show fear if you can help it; the rebels just lost their commander and seeing us will be another morale dropper, so don't look helpless," said Haymitch.

"While you might be able to do that, Haymitch, the rest of us have never stared death in the face the number of times you have, so don't expect us to get used to it in the next hour."

"You don't get used to it. You just learn where the cameras are and what you need to do to prepare yourself for being in front of them. Like in the Games; always know that you're on camera, so make sure to smile."

Flax's estimations were correct, for not half an hour later, the Peacekeepers came back for them, during which time none of them spoke much and Caesar had gone so quiet and still that Haymitch thought he had died until Caesar spat blood out of his mouth. The Peacekeepers didn't put hoods on or gag them this time, but they were still bound and being marched through the mansion until they reached the stained glass front doors which were thrown open as if to welcome in the sunlight while instead, they were opened to lead Haymitch and the others into a giant news coverage.

Haymitch and the others had their legs kicked at from behind so that they were forced to kneel in front of several cameras and news reporters who stood behind a line of Peacekeepers. He saw the reporters and cameramen leering at him, spitting and throwing whatever they could get their hands on, for his face was the only one those people recognized. Caesar had his head down, hidden from their view and without the wig and makeup, he was able to blend in as a simple blood-stained rebel of Thirteen like Flax and Crewe.

To applause and cries for justice, Snow appeared on Haymitch's right, dressed in a purple and white uniform decorated with his usual medals and badges. He raised his hands for silence and the cameras flashed to capture every moment of the president's speech.

"These rebels stormed the Capital, concocted a plot to wipe us all out and kill innocent people doing it without second thought just to prevent the Games from continuing. They've murdered and plotted, plotted to kill me in my own home. They brainwashed some of our own people to the point beyond recognition. I do not know most of the people who have invaded our homes, but I was able to pick out a familiar face here and there on security cameras throughout the city. I recognized and remembered certain people. People you and I both trusted to bring peace and glory to Panem have turned savage in the name of rebellion. At the same time, there are complete strangers kneeling before you now, individuals who selfishly hid from a nation that could have used them and decided that by not participating to help us thrive, they would slip into our homes and murder us in our sleep. Yet, what have they amounted to now?"

A rock hit Crewe in the side of the head and he winced, lifting his eyes to the sky to see the late afternoon sun sinking behind the clouds. Flax mouthed obscenities to the onlookers, but Caesar said nothing, did nothing. Haymitch saw his own face projected back at him from a screen that had been set up behind the press. Burnt, bloody, bruised, beaten, his face in need of a shave, his beanie stuck to him with sweat and blood, his clothes a tattered mess, Haymitch looked as ragged and wild as he had when he won his last Games, but unlike the hopelessness in his eyes when they pulled him from the arena, he had flames in his eyes now. Flames of fury, of injustice, of _hate_. The letter etched onto the weapons that Beetee had given him, the word that fueled his rage for the murder of thousands…

What was he? What were Caesar, Flax, and Crewe? What were the rebels?

A Peacekeeper placed a small, yet unnecessarily flashy pistol in Snow's hands. Perhaps it was a weapon saved for the ceremonious start of a race or to signify the new year, only now it would be used for murder.

"Nameless radicals dying for a useless cause."

Snow turned the pistol on Crewe and shot him through the skull. The back of Crewe's head caved in and the exit hole came out over his right eye. Crewe's temple jerked forward like a puppet on the end of a string in an almost comical way and then his body followed, flumping down onto the white marble and staining it brilliant red. Snow moved on to Flax who was having trouble staying upright with the wound to his chest, his mauled arm, and his broken ribs. Staring determinedly ahead, Flax made eye contact with a reporter and shot a wink in the man's direction as if to say, _Here's something for your cameras_. He held his head up proudly as the second bullet passed through the back of it and came out through his closed lips.

Without missing a beat, Snow directed the attention to Haymitch and Caesar. "You all will recognize the last two…one, a man we all looked to for entertainment, for reassurance when our way of life were threatened. A man who preached lies to you over the last few days as he sat in his usual spot on our televisions, knowing full well that his rebel friends were descending upon us. Caesar Flickerman, a traitor. And beside him, a man I had presumed dead, slain as he returned home on the train after winning the Third Quarter Quell, an individual who fought the system and who threatened you all in his last televised interview, Haymitch Abernathy."

"The only lies I told the people of Panem were fed to me by the Capitol," said Caesar, but his comment only earned him a sharp jab with the butt of a gun to the back of his skull.

"Your talent for keeping yourself out of trouble with your words has finally run dry, Mr. Flickerman," said Snow.

"Soldier," Caesar corrected.

"Very well, then go to your death with the rest of your companions, Soldier Flickerman."

"Caesar…" whispered Haymitch. "I'm sorry."

"You hear that?" said Snow, announcing Haymitch's apology to the nation. "Remorse. Not for the people they've murdered or the lives they've destroyed, but because they're about to die. Rebels are the stuff of cowardice, which is why they fall while we triumph and rise, stronger than ever before. We rise from the ashes."

_Ashes. Fire. The spark that triggered the fire. I'm the Fire…and the Fire can't go out._

Snow put the nozzle to the back of Caesar's bloody, bald head. Haymitch swiped out his left leg and caught Snow's ankles. The old man stumbled, but the motion caused him to pull the trigger and blood splattered the side of Haymitch's face. He saw Caesar toppling over as if at half the speed of reality, saw him hit the ground with his wrists still bound behind him. Haymitch knew nothing but terror, for by stalling for time, by keeping that bullet from going through Caesar's skull, somehow Haymitch's own demise seemed a thing of fantasy, unlikely to happen. Only, he hadn't kept the bullet from going through Caesar's skull…

_It didn't happen…it _did not _happen._

Haymitch was on his feet, unsure of how he got there or what he would do now that he was facing a host of Peacekeepers with his own hands tied behind him, but then an explosion went off above them, shattering the balcony and causing the white marble to cascade down on them. Someone grabbed Haymitch's bound wrists to pull him out of the way and sliced through the ropes before wheeling him around to get a good look at him.

Peeta.


	23. Chapter 23: All Has Fallen

"We're still fighting, Haymitch," the boy shouted over the noise of rebels storming Snow's mansion. "We can still win this." Peeta was armed with a weapon that he had acquired from somewhere, Haymitch didn't know. Joining him were Niles, Farler, Slone, and five other rebels.

"My team…" said Haymitch, still dazed.

"The rebels took the City Circle and Snow was having you executed to buy some time, but Katniss and Gerrod led the rebels into the Innermost Circle," said Niles. "Snow's resistance is crumbling as we speak."

"Snow."

Haymitch looked about for the president, but his eyes fell upon Caesar first, lying in a pool of blood beside Flax's body.

One look at his friend's lifeless form and Farler turned away, rubbing his knuckle into his eyes with determination to hold back the emotion longing to spill out.

"Haymitch, Katniss and the others are holding off the Peacekeepers, but we have to get to Snow so that we can end this while we still have the upper hand. You have to come with us now," said Slone urgently, deflecting another piece of falling marble with his shield.

"I have to help—"

"You can't help him anymore. He's gone, you understand? Caesar's dead."

But still, Haymitch didn't move—until Peeta's hand came up to smack him across the face.

"Haymitch, stay with me, okay? I need you to focus. Here, take the gun. If you want to help Caesar, get to Snow."

"I told them that I'd be the one left alive so that Snow could use me against Katniss," said Haymitch, feeling like he was either going to vomit, lose his head completely, or scream. Or maybe all three. He felt like he needed to explain, not to Peeta, but to Niles why his soldiers were dead and he, the Fire, was not. "I didn't know…"

"You're not at fault, Haymitch, but Praxis spoke of honoring the fallen once we take the Capitol. We _will_ honor them, but we have to take Snow first. I need your help with this; Snow will listen to you."

"No, he won't. I'm the man he hates more than anything in this world, why would he listen to me as I burst into his house and hold him at gunpoint?"

"Because he knows what you'll say. He knows you, perhaps better than anyone else."

This should have been the least motivating thing to get Haymitch moving, but he went, falling into step beside Slone and behind Niles who seemed to know exactly where he was going, for he took paths through the mansion that were devoid of Peacekeepers, yet bearing signs of the president in full flight, for various bookshelves, tables, and other piece of furniture had been hastily piled against the door to keep intruders at bay long enough for him to make an escape to—somewhere.

But Niles caught up with him, signaling for Haymitch and the others to raise their weapons as one against the wall of white as the Peacekeepers met them with equal hostility.

"Hold your fire!" shouted Farler as one Peacekeeper with an itchy trigger finger shot prematurely and hit one of the lightbulbs overhead.

Snow was protected by at least ten Peacekeepers who had him closed off in the corner of the sitting room, but they were not alone.

It was a sight Haymitch had never expected. Sometime between yesterday and shortly before Haymitch was led out to be executed, Snow had sent Peacekeepers to the home of Haymitch's only known Capitol friends: Effie Trinket, Portia, and Cinna. They stood in a semi-circle now, acting as a last resort barrier between Snow and the rebels with knives and guns held to their heads and throats. Since Snow could no longer use Haymitch as leverage with Katniss, he had resorted to using these three as leverage for his life, or at least to see Haymitch fall apart as his friends were slaughtered in front of him.

"It seems that we find ourselves at a stalemate quite often, don't we, Haymitch?" said Snow pleasantly.

"Release the hostages," commanded Niles.

"I don't believe I know your name, sir, but my informants tell me that you took over as battlefield commander when your leader Praxis Septum was shot down in the streets like the petty radical he was."

"Release the hostages," Niles repeated, to which Snow made a _tsk, tsk_ sound with a shake of his head.

"No stomach for politeness, I see. I hope Commander Septum's successor is better equipped than you."

"You're avoiding your imminent surrender, Mr. President, and it stops now, or there'll be blood. We're prepared to treat you fairly as a political prisoner, but only if you give up the hostages and lower yours arms."

"And no doubt, you'll find me guilty of a long list of treasonable acts and have me executed through a long, tedious process while I live out the remainder of my days watching the demise of a once-great nation. No, thank you, commander."

"It makes no difference to me how you die, but you're not taking any of us with you," said Haymitch.

"Careful, Haymitch," said Cinna, and then a Peacekeeper brought his baton over Cinna's head with a sound that made Haymitch wince. He prayed that there was no internal bleeding in Cinna's skull.

"Before any of us die, I would like to know why you really volunteered for Peeta, Haymitch," said Snow conversationally as if his Peacekeepers and Haymitch's team did not have their weapons trained on each other. "Was it born from a promise to Katniss Everdeen, or because you had a secret death wish and wanted to go into the Games again so that you wouldn't have to watch the rebellion unfold?"

"I don't owe you an answer to that."

"I think you owe an answer to Peeta and to yourself, and with the uncertainty of our further existence hanging in the balance, now is as good of a time as any to reveal your true intentions."

"And I told you that if there was one part of me left that the Capitol couldn't have, it was my mind. You tried to sell me, and I'm telling you the same thing I said then: fuck you."

"You used to possess an incredible amount of wit and intelligence, Haymitch.," said Snow, sounding genuinely disappointed. "You outsmarted your opponents in your first Games, concocted a scheme to save Katniss in your second, and yet here you are, using brute force to achieve your ends. I expected so much more of you, especially after that stunning display of moral for the propaganda footage you shot yesterday morning. What an entrance back into the world that took you for dead."

"I didn't want to overthink it this time."

"You chose not to. You let someone else take charge, and look what that's gotten you. Friends abandoned on the streets, lying in various states of decay while Capitol citizens are shot on sight because they run into the streets screaming for missing children, and more dead comrades strewn across my front porch."

"I didn't fucking do that."

"Haymitch, don't—" began Portia before a Peacekeeper hit her with the nozzle of his pistol, forcing her into silence.

"By siding with the rebels and giving your face to their cause, you have."

"Don't listen to him, Haymitch; he's toying with you," said Peeta.

"Lower your weapons, Haymitch, or do you no longer care about people dying for you like Denno and Sickle? Or what about your new friends, Glaze, Cobalt's twin brother Cyan and of all people—Caesar Flickerman?"

"They died because of you, not for me," Haymitch snarled.

"And what about the people in this room? Do you think that they're about to die because of me, or because of what you've done?"

Snow had no cause to kill Effie, Portia, and Cinna but for the reason Haymitch gave him. They were Snow's last line of defense, his shield against Haymitch's wrath.

"You let them go," said Haymitch. "They never knew anything about this."

"That doesn't matter anymore than it did twenty-six years ago."

Cinna passed out in the Peacekeepers' grasp as the knock to his head finally took its toll.

"Because I was smart enough to use a weapon I wasn't supposed to have. Because I figured out how to stay alive, you had my mother, my younger brother, and the girl I was going to marry murdered. You killed twenty-one other tributes, many of them my friends. You killed more of them out on the streets. You shot three of them through the head. Because of what I did as a child."

"Exactly," said Snow, now smiling that Haymitch finally understood.

_They all died because of you, Haymitch, not me_, Snow seemed to be saying. _I'm not the one who beat the system. You are. And it wouldn't be enough to kill you, which is why even now, you're still here._

"You were hoping I'd get this far," said Haymitch.

Portia strained against her bonds, her breathing coming in labored from the grip the Peacekeeper had on her.

"Not in quite this fashion," said Snow, "but yes, I was hoping that you would bring the glorious age of peace in Panem to an end so that in your victory, you would see that the people can never be satisfied and that a rebellion has accomplished nothing. During the Dark Days, the people rebelled, but the Games brought peace and they were dissatisfied. Now, you overthrow the system to abolish the Games, and the people will hate you for it because of the destruction you've caused to get here. You cannot win, Haymitch. No one can ever win, that's what I was trying to show you."

"You could have done that without killing the people I cared about. Only a sadistic fool would let thousands of people die just to prove a point to one man."

"Ah, I see Caesar rubbed off on you, didn't he?"

The slight about Haymitch's fallen friend was the final breaking point.

"Shut up_. _Shut up, shut _up! Don't you fucking dare!_" he screamed.

"Haymitch, don't!" Effie shrieked.

The Peacekeepers around Snow tensed, preparing to return fire that they expected from Haymitch, but the president made one small, almost inaudible remark, and the Peacekeeper on his far left sliced his blade across Effie's throat.

Peeta dropped his weapon in shock, staring in horror at Effie as her body folded like a dressed up rag doll and fell upon the floor in a shimmering, scaly heap while she twitched away the last seconds of her life gargling out pathetic moans of agony as her mouth filled with blood. The Peacekeepers trained their guns on Peeta, now disarmed and defenseless.

Haymitch had no time to make a path through the Peacekeepers or even fire at Snow. He had to act now. He launched himself in front of the boy, knowing the cost and finally accepting his fate. He felt what first could be identified as a painful blow to his chest as if something had struck him, then came the sting, the burning sensation of an agonizing consumption, the feel of slowly dying. He heard gunfire going on around him as his body keeled over and hit the ground, staining the beautifully woven rug in scarlet.

/ /

Waves crashing down over him, pulling him into the murkiness just below the surface. A bullet passing through the bottom half of his jaw. Flames rippling across his body and consuming his flesh. An enormous claw ripping through his stomach. An electric current coursing through his body until his insides erupted. More bullets filling his body with enough holes to play the children's game of drawing lines from dot to dot. Three bullets in succession blowing his brains out. A mass-production designed dagger opening his throat so that he could bleed out quickly. Endless gunfire…

Cracked ribs, concussion due to fractured skull, bruised lung, nerve damage, four bullet wounds.

These were the words he read when he opened his eyes and saw a medical bracelet attached to his wrist where his suicide cuff used to be. Needles in his right arm fed him morphling and replacement blood while a tube at his nose made soft puffs of air to help him breathe in his sleep. His eyes readjusted to his surroundings so that he could take in objects further away and he saw that he was in—a library. Not a medical ward, certainly not Thirteen, not at the Remake Center under the Tribute Center, and not in a Capitol hospital.

He sat up, feeling the needles under his skin move with him as he slowly swung one leg out of bed only to see it looking oddly disproportionate to his other leg. _Nerve damage_. Perhaps he had lost the ability to use one leg, and so the muscle had deteriorated until only the skin and bone remained. As he attempted to stand, however, he found that he could still use both legs, only all his other contributing injuries made it difficult to not sway with wooziness. He reached for the curtain blocking off half of the room, pushed it back, and saw-

"Caesar."

Caesar sat up in alarm, turning towards Haymitch, and then Haymitch saw his eye. Though the side of Caesar's head was heavily bandaged, his right eye no longer had any white in it. Instead, the white was replaced by the color of blood.

"I saw you die," said Haymitch, refusing to believe that this man was real and not just a figment of his obviously muddled imagination. "I was less than a foot away and I watched the bullet go through your head."

"I can tell you that I was there as well, but the bullet didn't go through my head," said Caesar, though he felt the bandages as if to reassure himself.

"What—"

"I don't know," said Caesar, taking in the sight of Haymitch and after realizing that there was no immediate danger, settling back into his bed. "I'm having trouble remembering things, but Peeta's been in a few times and he told me that he saw the bullet pass through the far side of my head and miss my brain, but take out a vital part of my eye. Reconstructive surgery helped the doctors repair it, but the color will never go back to white. Small price to pay, I suppose."

"How long have I been out of it?"

"A week and a half, maybe two," Caesar calculated. "According to our doctors, you're a model patient: consuming all your tube-fed food, sleeping most of the time in silence, and slowly recovering in the physical sense of the word. As for emotional and mental recovery, that remains to be seen."

"Who else made it?"

"For those of stellar status who were gravely injured, we've been put in Snow's mansion to avoid the public and the press."

"You mean we won?"

Caesar gave Haymitch a patronizing look. "You and I have been given top medical attention in the best room the mansion has to offer because we are prisoners of war scheduled to be executed again—_yes_, we won, you idiot. God, I thought you were supposed to be the intelligent one. Peeta told me your whole conversation with Snow before the Peacekeepers tore you up. Of course, Katniss arrived with the backup right after you'd been shot and as Peeta struggled to shield you, you got bumped and tossed around quite roughly, which explains the injuries unrelated to the bullets. You were shot in the chest, twice in the same arm, and once in the outer thigh."

"Is anyone else from our team dead?"

Caesar's cocky survivalist conduct faded right out as he pulled out a list from a book at his bedside table. "I wrote down the names I could remember and Katniss and Farler came in to help me with the rest. Beginning with the morning of the revolution, Kao, Axle, Glaze, Bacchus, Cyan, Praxis, Crewe, Flax, Effie Trinket, and…and Meela."

There was an awful moment while both Haymitch and Caesar considered giving their condolences to the other for his loss, but since they felt like they had come out worse in the situation, they said nothing. Luckily, the doors opened before the silence could grow too long and Alaida Septum strode in, wearing a small pin that signified her authoritative position, but no medals, no capes, and no crowns.

"Soldier Abernathy, return to your bed at once or I will call doctors in here to strap you down. You shouldn't be alive right now and I'll not have all the hard work put into you ruined because you couldn't wait to see your roommate. Well, now you've seen him, and things have changed very little since Thirteen."

"Except neither of us looked this much like shit in Thirteen at the same time," said Caesar.

"Soldier Flickerman," said Alaida.

"Madam President," said Caesar with a nod, and then seeing Haymitch's confused expression, he had Alaida explain.

"As successor to my father Praxis Septum, I took command in Thirteen after he died while Niles Holbrook acted as battlefield commander until my arrival here in the Capitol. The districts overthrew their Peacekeepers in an act that was actually much swifter than my father expected. It was the one part of the plan that followed his hopes step for step. A representative from each district attended a meeting to either abolish the presidency or vote for a new one. It was decided that the people would cast votes for their representatives from the districts in the future and that the president would contain less than half of that power. It's more of a visual aspect than a literal one, just for show, really. But I was elected."

"In that case," said Haymitch, feeling rather awkward at addressing this young woman as his superior, "Congratulations, Madam President."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Madam President," added Caesar before Haymitch could say anything else.

"You don't have to stand on formalities," said Alaida, dismissing Caesar's courtesies. "I know that you could never forgive my father for what happened to you."

"But I am truly sorry," said Caesar earnestly. "I can't pretend and say that I'm sorry for what happened to him, but my heart goes out to you and for you alone. He was your family; I understand what it's like to lose all you have."

"I'm sorry for you, Caesar. Meela was not given clearance to leave Thirteen, but she snuck out anyway once she heard that you hadn't made it to your team. We managed to recover her body moments after you and the others were taken by Peacekeepers, and we'll leave that up to you on where you would like her to be buried."

"She and Crewe should be buried together—"

"Side by side, perhaps, but not together. I know about you and her, Caesar, and it's quite alright. In fact, I have news for you, and I don't know if you'll take it as good or bad, but it has to do with Meela…and the babies."

Judging by Caesar's face, he had gotten Haymitch's coded message the night of the reapings that Meela was pregnant with twins, but it was difficult to tell what Caesar was feeling at this exact moment, especially with one eye looking like the spawn of something demonic.

"There was a boy and a girl. I'm sorry to tell you that when the bullets hit Meela, they killed the boy inside of her. But we were able to save the girl and she's been with a wet nurse, kept on constant watch for the past few weeks. She's a healthy baby girl, Caesar, but if you can't bring yourself to face her, there are plenty of people willing to take her. If you do want her, she's yours."

Caesar propped himself up ever so slightly. "Is she—can—may I see her?

Alaida nodded to the guards at the door who opened it to reveal a woman carrying a white bundle. The woman brought the bundle to Caesar.

"May I hold her?" Caesar whispered.

The woman placed the baby girl in Caesar's arms and instantly, he began to weep.

"Should I send for a doctor?" Alaida asked Haymitch.

"No, he's fine. At least, he is now," said Haymitch and with the promise to return later to discuss important matters, Alaida took her leave.

Haymitch allowed Caesar ten minutes to take in the beauty of his daughter before prompting, "Any names in mind?"

"Isla," said Caesar as if he had anticipated the question.

"Because of your district? District Four?" Haymitch guessed.

"That was my sister's name."

Seeing that Caesar would be occupied for hours just staring into his daughter's face, Haymitch repositioned the curtain to hide his bed from view, climbed back into it, and stared up into the ceiling made to resemble the sky in patterns of sunset colors: vivid orange, fiery red, golden yellow, gentle pink, and just a tinge of mid-tone blue like the scales on a fish…like the fish scales Effie had worn as the Peacekeeper sliced open her throat.

Biting down on his pillow, Haymitch pulled the covers over his head so that even if Caesar pulled back the curtain, he wouldn't be able to see Haymitch sobbing.


	24. Chapter 24: Last Impressions

In addition to the two weeks Haymitch had already spent unconsciously recovering in Snow's library, the doctors demanded that he spend an additional two to give his body time to work around his wounds. It wasn't that Haymitch minded being bed-ridden, but having nothing to do except mull over the procession of funerals he was attending almost daily was starting to break down the defenses he had worked so hard to rebuild after his last Games. That, and Caesar had been moved to another room in the mansion now that he was at least physically recovered and had Isla to tend to. As for his mental state, Haymitch could hear him cry out at night from what seemed like miles away since the mansion echoed.

Not all the bodies of the fallen had been recovered, Kao, Axle, and Cyan among them, but nevertheless, they were honored just as Praxis promised. Fellow soldiers stood to attention as their bodies were lain to rest outside the city walls which were being taken down so that never again would there be separation between the districts and the Capitol.

Alaida performed superbly as president when her father was lowered into his grave, giving a speech in his honor and sparing a tear or two for him, but she didn't go to pieces. The same could not be said of Bacchus's family who had been flown in to retrieve his body for its last journey home, or for Silica Bender who knelt at her brother's empty casket and clutched it for several long minutes before Jax pulled her away. On Jax's other side, Alaida took his hand and Haymitch felt the slightest lift in his spirits that the boy had found some solace after Kao's sacrifice. There was no family member to claim certain bodies, and so they were lined in the mass gravesite outside the walls as those who could say that they knew the fallen lay memoirs atop their graves. Glaze, Flax, and Crewe were returned to their districts after being given a final send off with a gunfire salute and display of recognition by the soldiers.

The last two to be buried that Haymitch had to be in attendance for were Meela and Effie, the former of which was lain to rest deeper into the mountains than Haymitch believed it safe to go, and there was a small gathering for her, mainly consisting of Haymitch, Alaida, Niles, Katniss, Jax, Silica, Stave, and the rest of the Command team who had trained together for all those months in Thirteen. Caesar dug the grave himself and a simple headstone with a roughly hewn flower on it and her name was placed above her head after the hole had been filled up. Alaida set up a guard with Caesar who wished to be left behind for a while so that he and Isla could sit beside the grave and mourn.

Effie was buried as she had lived: fabulously. She was dressed in her favorite pink and purple attire with a soft magenta wig in a casket of forget-me-not blue. Her dress had been altered to conceal the ugly smile cut into her throat and it was this alone that Haymitch could focus on as Peeta read a dedication to her. Katniss only stood by with Prim, fingers entwined with Haymitch's since neither of them had the words to express grief for this eccentric, confusing, blissfully ignorant, sometimes irritable, but dedicated and loving woman. Haymitch had given all of his grief to the tears he shed at night these past few weeks, and so he said and did nothing when the last shovelful of dirt was packed into place.

Contrary to what Snow believed, his trial was a short one in which the list of treasonable acts were read, a jury found him unanimously guilty, and he was sentenced to be hung the day before Haymitch was scheduled to go home. Snow never said a word in his own defense, but he did bring up questions that made the judge and prosecutor spend long minutes at the stand discussing whatnots in hushed tones. Alaida had spent long hours with the former president in his cell which was just another room in his mansion, though not his own. She questioned him on events and items off-record, perhaps to discover where he had gone wrong and how to avoid becoming like him, but if anyone had reservations about her becoming the next president, they were misplaced, for Alaida was not easily influenced.

It was over dinner the night before Snow's execution that she came to Haymitch with Caesar by her side and asked if he had any last words he would like Snow to hear. Haymitch had thought it over and concluded that there was nothing left that he thought Snow deserved to weasel out of him. He had unwillingly given everything to this tyrant; he would not give him the satisfaction of seeing Haymitch one last time to torment him.

"I have nothing to say to that bastard."

"If you're certain—"

"It's not so much what you could say, but rather what your presence could do," said Caesar. "Snow never saw you during his trial; the last vision he has of you is when you were laying on the floor dying after being shot and Snow thought in that moment that he'd finally beat you down. Is that what you want him to go out on? Do you want to send Snow to hell with that image?"

"Oh, piss off, Caesar, you don't care what Snow's last vision of me is," said Haymitch.

"That's partially true. I don't care what your opinion is on the matter, but I do care what Snow's is."

"Shouldn't it be the other way around?" asked Alaida.

"No, you see, I don't give a damn what's going through that concrete-thick skull of Haymitch's, but I refuse to give Snow any satisfaction, any sense that he won something from this war. He doesn't deserve that. That, and I plan to have words with him, which I can't do alone and since Katniss and Peeta don't want to talk to him, you're my last option, Abernathy."

"Well, when you put it that way, no."

"I think you owe me this favor, Haymitch."

"Actually, I think we're square."

"You owe me," said Caesar firmly. "You owe me for not making sure that Meela understood how important it was to stay in Thirteen. If she had, she would still be alive, and I would have a son as well. Isla would have her mother. If you won't do it to pay off your debt to me, then do it for my daughter, unless you have a quarrel with her as well."

Haymitch never liked babies much. They squealed and made messes that smelled rancid while everyone around them spoke gibberish and cooed over them. But after seeing so many lives cut short to ensure that newborns like Isla could live full lives, Haymitch had a newfound appreciation for children. And Isla was the quietest baby Haymitch had ever heard—or rather, not heard.

So he agreed.

/ /

Haymitch was still hooked up to a breathing apparatus that was strapped to his back and he had to move gingerly, but he had been allowed to change out of his hospital garb to meet Snow and he chose to dress in a plain navy blue shirt and pants combination, but his beanie, designed by Portia to mimic a warm, crackling fire in the hearth, was the color of flames. Haymitch thought it appropriate to present this image of the Fire as Snow's last impression of Haymitch Abernathy.

Caesar, however, took a different approach. Haymitch had only ever seen him in a select few type of clothing: his jumpsuit in Thirteen, his sparkling suits for the Games, his rebel uniform, and a hospital gown, so it was slightly off-putting to see him look so normal in dull blue and subtle green, the colors of his district, which he could not openly represent without fear of repercussion from the Capitol.

"What's with the scarf?" asked Haymitch with a wrinkle in his nose as he observed Caesar's enormous teal scarf that completely concealed Isla who accompanied her father everywhere now. "I thought you gave up dressing to impress."

"After months of wearing that drab grey jumpsuit, yes, I did, but I asked Cinna and Portia for this scarf for Isla, not me. It helps her sleep because it was designed to replicate the closeness and warmth of the womb."

As general of the Capitol's newfound army with the abolishment of Peacekeepers, Niles had the duty of briefing Haymitch and Caesar on protocol for having an audience with the condemned prisoner.

"If he becomes unruly, alert the guards; don't try to handle it yourselves. Stay at least five feet away from him at all times," said Niles, then, when he saw that Haymitch was distracted, snapped his fingers in Haymitch's face. "Hey, this rule was put in place because of you. It only really applies to you, so try to obey it."

Together, Haymitch and Caesar entered the guest room, surprised to find Snow sitting upright in an armchair with his hands and ankles chained together and fitted with a collar that would undoubtedly deliver a shock if he chose to try and run. His attire was not prison garb, but a lush maroon robe inlaid with fur and a pair of wooly slippers. He was reading a giant volume spread out on his lap with dog-eared pages, but he looked up as his visitors came closer and his face broke into a wide, intrigued smile.

"People associated with Haymitch _never_ cease to amaze me," said Snow in delight. "I thought I had placed the bullet perfectly centered in your skull, Caesar."

"Almost, but Haymitch throwing you off balance earns the Unexpected Save of the Year Award, though you won't be there to hand out the medal, I'm afraid," said Caesar in what sounded like a genial quip, though the hate Haymitch read underneath the false smile was so strong that it was a wonder Caesar's clothes weren't steaming or Snow melting under his focus.

"Alas, no, but do lay a copy of the ceremony at my grave and perhaps it will reach me in the afterlife."

"The afterlife you're headed to won't allow you any time for watching videos," said Caesar.

"You won't know until you join me. I do hope to meet the woman you impregnated, though," said Snow, smiling through shimmering red lips at Caesar, though his eyes were positively twinkling in malice. "My guards have quite the tongue for gossip and the word spread like wildfire—like a jabberjay, actually. I'm sorry to hear that she and the babies didn't make it."

Caesar dropped all pretenses and let the enormous scarf drop to reveal Isla nestled against her father's chest. "This is my daughter, you sick son of a bitch," Caesar snarled and Snow's smirk slid off of his face like wax dripping down the side of a rapidly burning candle. Haymitch wagered that this was the first time Snow had ever seen the true Caesar Flickerman, and he was terrified that this man had been hiding under a painfully cheesy game show host for forty years.

"She'll never have to worry about having her name drawn in the reapings, nor will she live in fear of a dictator who deals in poison and lies. You'll be nothing to her but a name in a history book." Caesar held Isla up for Snow to see. "Look at her, you piece of shit. You can't touch this child or any other in the nation. Panem's not yours anymore."

"She's a beautiful child, Caesar," said Snow, but Haymitch couldn't read the former president. Was he mocking Caesar or trying to show one last bit of contempt? Was he trying to have the final laugh, or did he find true beauty in Isla?

"She is. Fuck you."

Cradling Isla to him, Caesar stomped out the door, leaving Haymitch to face Snow alone for the first time since Snow had sent him home on the train that fateful day.

"How extraordinarily alike you two seem to be now, Haymitch," Snow observed. "What a wonderful personality you share."

"We're nothing alike," said Haymitch. "He's managed to salvage something from this war. He has his daughter."

"And you?"

"I don't have anyone. I just survived, that's all. That's what I do."

"Not Miss Everdeen or Mr. Mellark? I hear that the show they put on for the Capitol is something of a legacy now, since they appear to be truly in love. And I hear that our new president is smitten with that wonderfully brave boy from Two, the third Bender."

"You don't have anything better to do than press your ear to the door and listen to the guards talking, do you?"

"Regrettably, no, since I have exhausted the small library that comes with this guest room, and they won't allow me any writing material or music to listen to."

"And what a tragedy that is. I guess both of us ended up with shit in the end, then, didn't we?"

"I would say that you ended up with a valuable friend in Caesar Flickerman. I never could have predicted that outcome."

"He can't stand me. We've been at odds since he arrived in Thirteen." Why was he telling Snow this, of all people? Was it because he needed for someone to understand how much he resented Caesar for being able to have a daughter in the midst of a war, or because he didn't know how to tell Caesar how sorry he was for what happened to Meela? Even if it was to the person Haymitch loathed the most, he needed someone to hear him, someone who knew Caesar before.

"But he accepted your apology. Right before I shot him, you asked for his forgiveness—at the time, I didn't know what for—but now I do, and it should be evidence enough that he's forgiven you because he asked you to come in here with him."

"He doesn't have anyone else he knows that's in any condition to walk. The few friends he managed to make in Thirteen are dead or wounded."

"Exactly, Haymitch, he doesn't have anyone else. And at this point I would say that he's looking for you to forgive him for whatever he did. He trusts you, something I never would have believed capable of Caesar Flickerman. But then again, I haven't been exposed to the real Caesar until now. I had no idea that his personality could be so—harsh. Tell me, did they torture him in Thirteen?"

"Yes, they did, and he—wait, why am I even explaining this to you? What have you done to earn the truth about him, about any of us?"

"I'm a people person, Haymitch. I understand why they work the way they do and I know what lengths they will go to in order to get what they want. Katniss didn't want to kill Peeta in the arena, so she devised a way to test the Gamemakers. You wanted retribution for your murdered family, so you grew a savage tongue that helped you raise an army. And Caesar wanted justice for his sister who was reaped the year he was adopted, so he joined a cause he could believe in. In that way, you are alike. You sacrifice everything for the people you love."

"And you sacrifice the people you love for everything. That's why you'll die tonight and I'll go home."

"Home," said Snow, wrapping his velvet smoking jacket tighter around him. "Such a comforting word, yet so foreign. Where is home for you, Haymitch? In Twelve, where the memories of your family and friends linger, forcing you to return to the bottle that swallowed up twenty-five years of your life? In the Capitol where so many of your friends and allies died for a rebellion you started? Or perhaps deep underground in Thirteen where you can waste away in peace by never seeing the sun and keeping to a strict, non-alcoholic diet? Where will you wander as you live out your days?"

What punishment was enough Snow? To make him watch his granddaughter go through a new type of Hunger Games that sacrificed children of the Capitol? No, he would have handed her over himself in a neatly wrapped box if it meant he could escape. To torture him endlessly, ensuring that he was kept alive to endure it? No, he would relish the fact that his torturers had resorted to Snow's own methods to deal with criminals. To kill him with his family watching him as the people who brought down the system stood by? No, he would laugh as he watched the people who rebelled now try to deal with a nation that hated them for the loss of lives. There was nothing Haymitch, or anyone could do, to bring Snow's emotional defenses down.

That didn't sit well with Haymitch. This man had to be punished in some way. He had to be made to pay for every despicable moment of his life, every sick, twisted thought in his head.

Haymitch grabbed the front of Snow's shirt, hoisting the frail old man to his feet and smelling the scent of blood on his puffed-up lips. "Why did you choose me?" he demanded.

"Because there is no greater joy in life than to find a worthy adversary, to find someone who can engage in a battle of wit and war. When you find your equal, you have succeeded. Only then will you know that you have truly been tested and that your life was worth living."

If Snow meant for it to be flattering or demeaning, Haymitch didn't care.

"I'm not your equal. I'm less of a man and more of human than you because I can endure it and I have. Hate lingers for a while, makes you dread every living moment and you wallow in it, but you have to let it go. Loving someone makes you weaker, more vulnerable, but it's the one thing that stays with you until you die. That's the one thing that makes us different, makes me less and you more, makes me live and you die."

He would have relished the ability to clout Snow, to put him on his knees bleeding from both nostrils, but there was someone to call him away before he got the chance.

"Haymitch," said Caesar. "That's enough."

Haymitch dropped Snow back into his armchair, spat at his feet, and walked out past Caesar, but then did a double take, came back in, and threw his flaming beanie at Snow's feet.

"There's something to keep you warm when you stand on that platform at the gallows tonight."


	25. Chapter 25: Live

For the next eight hours, Haymitch locked himself in the library, refusing medical assistance when he took himself off of his oxygen and doctors tried to force their way into the room. Haymitch didn't care if the lack of air to his system made him shrivel up and die choking on his own blood as he tried to suck in breath. Confronting Snow had taken everything he had left to give, and Haymitch had finally shot the ex-president down by degrading himself. What a victory.

At Snow's execution, the old man wouldn't be able to see him anyway since the stands around the gallows would be blackened out so that only a spotlight shone where Snow would be. The idea was that, as Snow had deemed human life expendable, he need not see any in his last moments. But Haymitch didn't even want to go now, not when it would be so much easier to sit here, hidden away from the world—

"You let me in right now, Haymitch!"

"Go away," Haymitch called back.

"I'll break the door down, see if I won't!"

"Go _away_!"

"Open the damn door!"

If only to stop her screaming, Haymitch pushed aside the desk, chairs, and bookshelves that he had piled in front of the door. Before he had moved the last piece of furniture, Katniss kicked the door open, but it rebounded and shut itself so that she had to open it more slowly with a scowl as she squeezed into the room.

"What the hell is your problem? Alaida wanted all of us at that last dinner to pay tribute to everything we've done and everyone we've lost and guess who didn't show up? Are you trying to go into seclusion again? Do you have booze stashed around here somewhere?"

"No, feel free to look around, though."

"You're not doing this again. It took me over a year to sober you up and get you clean and you're not going to ruin that just because you…what, exactly? Why are you acting up?"

"Did Peeta propose to you for real this time?" asked Haymitch, fiddling with the bandage over the spot where he had last had an IV feeding him blood.

"Did he—I—no, he hasn't yet."

"Yet? You expect him to?"

"Maybe, I don't know—what does this have to do with you?"

"So, you have something to go back to in Twelve, then?" said Haymitch pointedly.

The Girl on Fire never had a friendly face to spare, even for Haymitch, but it softened now as she understood why Haymitch had sought solitude instead of the company of the only friends he had.

"Does this have anything to do with what you and Snow talked about?"

"He knows me better than I do," Haymitch admitted. "He said that he already knows I don't have a place to go that actually needs me, so there's no sense in continuing to exist."

"He was saying everything he could to beat you down one last time, Haymitch," said Peeta, having snuck in behind Katniss. "Since he can't threaten you anymore, he's using his intellect to hurt you before he goes to his death. You have a place in this world. You don't know what to do with yourself, that's all. You've never had to get a job or face day-to-day life without fighting to accomplish something like keeping me and Katniss alive, or training for the siege. But there's so much you can learn to do, so many ways you can contribute. The best thing to do is just keep busy, whatever it takes."

"I'm no good at anything worth being good at now that the Capitol's fallen. I was good at surviving and for directing my hate towards Snow, but after today, I won't have to do that anymore."

"You won't know what there is to offer until you get home. And you are coming home. I'm not leaving the Capitol without you," said Katniss.

"Me neither," said Peeta.

Kids. They were still just kids, yet they had better ways of consoling him than the trained doctors who had been specifically assigned to Haymitch's case. And they loved him enough to not give up on him when he had every intention of giving up on himself.

"Get dressed, Haymitch. The car will be here to pick us up in fifteen minutes."

Just as promised, the stands around the gallows went dark as soon as the people had taken their places. None were seated, but everyone in attendance was either from the districts, a rebel, or a high-ranking official who had helped serve Praxis. Capitol citizens and former Peacekeepers had to stand furthest back and outside the stands to watch on television since there wasn't room to accommodate all. Fellow conspirators and those who worked under Snow would also watch from their cells as a reminder of what was to come. Haymitch and the Command team had a spot behind Alaida who stood directly in front of Snow, but still hidden in the shadows.

When Snow was led out, wrists chained behind him and ankles shackled together, there came a rise of boos and curses from the crowd, but unlike with Haymitch and his fellow rebels who had been captured and brought out to be executed in front of the press, no one threw anything at Snow. Alaida had each person searched for weapons and objects before entering the stands to set an example. Already she was proving to be a fine president and Haymitch suspected that, had her father lived, he would not have approved of her merciful ruling, but the people already adored her.

A man in official-looking robes read a final sentiment for Snow, addressing the date of execution, and the reason for it, then asked Snow if he had any final words.

"Don't let it happen again," said Snow pleasantly, and a ripple went through the crowd. What did Snow mean? Don't let a president have all the power again? Don't let something like the Hunger Games force a nation into disarray and poverty? Or don't let the people think they knew better because they had won their freedom?

The hooded executioner placed the noose around Snow's neck and in the seconds before a black hood much like the one Haymitch had been forced to wear was pulled down over the dictator's head, Snow's eyes found Haymitch. It might have been a trick of the lights, or Haymitch's exhausted mind playing tricks on him, but in those crucial seconds before the piercing blue eyes were covered, Haymitch could have sworn that they locked onto him, hidden in the dark. He took an ungainly step backwards, but at least four hands were there to hold him up, all from his team.

A drum rolled out the countdown as the spotlight closed in on Snow. The trapdoor beneath him fell away and for about eight seconds, his feet kicked uselessly as his neck snapped sideways, and then it was over.

Haymitch had no memory of the car ride back to Snow's mansion, nor did he remember bidding Peeta and Katniss goodnight, but he did come to when the rest of his team came to the library to say their farewells to him. Beetee would be helping set up a new system of communication in the Capitol, since his hacking into the previous one had destroyed it. Silica promised to come out and see him soon, but not until she had helped with the destruction of the fortifications around District 2's main military units. Bastian, who was now overseer of reconstruction of the city, shook his hand in the kindest gesture Haymitch had ever seen out of the man. Haymitch's concerns about Stave living on his own after even more traumatic experiences during the war were addressed when Slone and Farler stated that they had taken up a shared residence to help train the new police force that Alaida had renamed simply The Guards. It was also a bit of a shock when Stave put out his arms for a hug from Haymitch since neither of them liked physical contact, but Haymitch humored him. Nollie from Ten would also be staying in the Capitol to help plant gardens where torn-down buildings used to be like the Tribute Center and former arenas. Gerrod would be returning to Eleven to pick up his family before moving to Twelve per Katniss's request and Niles asked for Haymitch to send him updates from Twelve so that the two could keep in contact while Niles carried out his duties as Head of The Guard. Jax jokingly warned Haymitch to keep a close eye on Prim since he and Katniss's sister had developed a close friendship since those first and only minutes of the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games.

And then Haymitch was left alone to pack nothing and wait for morning when the train would take him home. He had not even begun to wonder how he was going to while away the time when someone knocked and entered without invitation. He wasn't at all surprised to see Caesar with Isla wrapped in her favorite scarf, now in a carrier that allowed Caesar to have his hands free.

"Are you up for a game of chess?"

"No."

"Good, because I don't know how to play. I just came by to ask what you were going to do until you have to go home."

"Wait."

"How exciting. I know I won't be able to sleep because they're moving me out tomorrow, making me collect whatever I want from my home before I return to Thirteen to gather up Meela's things. Then I'm coming all the way back out here to lay a few of those things at her grave, but I want to keep some for Isla."

As if just noticing the forlorn look on Haymitch's face, Caesar gave an impartial shrug. "What's wrong with you now? You should feel accomplished. Snow's gone and you gave him a giant 'fuck you' before he went. You won."

"Yeah, I've won, alright. Snow died and I get to do—what, exactly? I don't have it in me to slit my own throat, otherwise I wouldn't have hesitated when the Peacekeepers first captured me in that enclosure, so I have to stick around. I made do with consumption for twenty-four years and the past year I've been in training to get here, only I never planned on getting past that. It was a given that I was supposed to die out there on the streets, but I didn't, so I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do."

"Let me ask you something, Haymitch, if Snow hadn't killed your family, if you still had those people that you loved, do you think you would have had as strong of a desire to bring their murders to justice? Do you think that you would have fought as hard to protect Katniss in the arena or would have willingly participated in the war when Praxis came for you on the train?"

"If you're saying that it was in Panem's best interest for my family to be slaughtered, I'll stab your fucking eyes out."

"I wasn't going to say that," said Caesar impatiently. "I'm asking you if you think that you would still have as much of a hatred for Snow and the Games if you still had your family?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do know. And I know I do. Your family's murders didn't change you; this was always who you were meant to be, only you've decided not to let yourself be this person for a quarter of a century. You hid away from it all because you couldn't do anything to fight the system, but now that the system no longer exists, now that Panem is safe, and you don't have to fear for your life or the lives of the few people you've grown close to, what is there left for you to do, you wonder. Now that everything is as it should be in order to prosper, what can you do? Live, Haymitch, for all you're worth."

It was that simple. Live. Live instead of exist. Live instead of wander. Be something, do something, and keep going, whatever it took. Leave it to Caesar to put it all into perspective with one simple word.

Now, suddenly realizing that Caesar hadn't stated a final destination, Haymitch asked, "Where will you go?"

"I'm not sure yet. You know, a few days ago, I was given the opportunity to sign a modeling contract. _A modeling contract_. Apparently a wigless, feisty Caesar Flickerman is all the rage now and people are dying to know the real Caesar, but tough shit for them, because I'm not sharing, especially since they want to do a sort of a post-war bit on big-name or big-job soldiers so that the people in the districts know who their, and I quote, 'saviors and liberators are'. And if that doesn't make you want to vomit—"

"Alaida won't let them turn this into something blown so out of proportion."

"Well, they're after her too, but she can't threaten them to silence them, so she has to agree to do small interviews, but she's politely asked them to not idolize the featured soldiers."

"Anyone else we know who's in the spotlight?"

"Oh, yes, they went after Primrose after they got a hold of the footage of her staying behind to fix up Jax, but Katniss put her foot down and said that she didn't want a camera near her family ever again and that she would make it her new mission in life to destroy anyone who attempted to invade her privacy."

"She's already making enemies again—"

"They want to feature Jax as Alaida's unlikely lover, a boy who followed in his victor siblings' footsteps to pursue a woman seemingly out of reach, only to lose his brother in battle. That bit will fall through instantly, though, because Jax actually just proposed to Alaida, and once the press gets a hold of that—"

"When did this happen?" Haymitch demanded.

"While you were holed up in here. He proposed at the last dinner for all of the Command team, so you missed out. But other soldiers include Niles, of course, Stave, Slone, Silica—"

"So, just the victors. This is Game-propaganda all over again."

"Well, now, you didn't let me finish. Alaida agreed that they could do this feature only if every fallen soldier was given recognition in the magazine they want to print this in, and if they also included highlights on non-famous names like Flax, Crewe, and Cyan. Basically, everyone from the Command team, except for me."

"And why are you exempt?"

"Because I gave the people most of my life by living it falsely, so I'd like to spend the time I have left by living it in truth with my daughter. If the press wants information on me, they can dig it up from another source."

"Which brings us back to the question I asked you before, where'll you go now? Four?"

"I don't think I could return there just yet."

"Will you stay here in the Capitol?"

"Good God, no, I'd have reporters outside my house day and night trying to flash a camera at Isla, and that's not an environment I want her to grow up in. Gerrod told me how, now that they've torn down the walls around Eleven, that it's quite peaceful, but rather depressing in the winter because it's flat lands with nothing to see but barren snow. Stave mentioned the forests in Seven, which are actually quite appealing, but I haven't decided for certain. I won't go anywhere too industrial, so Eight, Two, and One are out of the question. How's Twelve?"

"Black," said Haymitch. "Even if they've shut down the coal mines, there's still a layer of the stuff coating the district. But we have meadows, mountains, you know, a village district. Secluded."

"That's a possibility that I'll keep open."

"Look me up if you decide to come visit, then."

There was a pregnant pause in which Haymitch wondered what else he ought to say. What does one say at the end of nearly a year of mutual dislike for the other's habits and attitudes? What does one say at the farewell between two soldiers who survived war and execution and despite all the hate thrown their way, still managed to become friends?

"I never thanked you," said Caesar, "for speaking out on my behalf back in Thirteen when Praxis was having me interrogated."

"I didn't expect you to because I never knew if I had actually done you a favor by letting you live. Answer me this, though: was it worth it?"

Caesar looked down at Isla who was fast asleep against her father's chest with one tiny fist curled. He brought it to his lips and kissed it. "Yes, it was."

"Then you're welcome."

And as Caesar walked out the door, Haymitch saw a flash of possibility awaiting him in Twelve, of letting sunlight stream into his house as children laughed in the open meadow and the people dedicated the former Reaping Day as a memoriam for all they had lost. No fear, no hate, no grief, no loss.

"_Live, Haymitch, for all you're worth."_

Live.

**Sorry, epilogues and "Ten Years Later"s are not things I think I can write convincingly, so I won't. I don't remember when I first started writing this story, but I am so very glad I finished, just in time since I start my final college semester tomorrow and will have NO time at all for my own writing since I'm taking about four literature/writing classes, all of which are for my major, and a history class for my minor. Goodbye sleep, hello keyboard. Thank you all for reading, for peeking, for stopping by, for saying hello. Your reviews and viewings helped get me here, so I leave you now with this image...**

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